


Not Everyone

by spacedmuch



Series: Not Everyone-verse [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Complete, F/F, Female-Centric, Older Woman/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 109,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedmuch/pseuds/spacedmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 2006 when Andy Sachs tossed her phone in Les fontaines de la Concorde and left Miranda Priestly stranded without an assistant in the middle of Paris Fashion Week. Almost a year later, a chance encounter turns out to be only the beginning as Andy soon realizes that a life without Miranda Priestly may not be what she seeks after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rapid Departure & Immediate Fallout

Dragon Lady, Ice Queen, Bitch in Heels, The Devil in Prada. Andy repeated the monikers in her head as she exited the elevator and walked swiftly down the hall of the twelfth floor of the Hotel Plaza Athenee, digging around in her purse for her room key. 

She could still smell the heady mix of Miranda's perfume and the leather of the town car upholstery. They were smells which, no matter which city she was in, had become synonymous with her entrapment.

Stepping out of that car had felt an awful lot like freedom. The papers had been right about Miranda all along. Never had she seen someone so callously tread over the dreams of another. The look on Nigel's face would stay with her for days after this.

 _You did the same to Emily_ , an unwanted little voice reminded her even as she pushed it to the back of her mind and swiped to get into her room. It looked like a hurricane had swept through this morning, but she had little time to waste unless she wanted to come face to face with the Devil herself as she fled the scene of the crime.

She moved quickly, efficiently splitting the clothes borrowed from The Closet and those she had received this week into separate suitcases. She grabbed one outfit for the road and tossed it onto the bed before swooping into the bathroom and throwing her products carelessly into her toiletry bag, pausing only long enough to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She looked borderline insane. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wide. She had just committed career suicide, but she had to admit she felt more alive than she had in months. Alive, and terrified. The fear snapped her back into action - things were a little easier now that she had only a single task to complete: get out of Paris and away from Miranda-fucking-Priestly.

She grabbed her carry-on and threw the toiletry bag inside, along with the second outfit, and her underwear. She took a quick glance down at what she was wearing and pondered whether or not Miranda would have her arrested and stripped at Charles de Gaulle. Everything on her body belonged to _Runway_ , all the way down to her sinfully gorgeous forest green I.D. Sarrieri lingerie. There was barely a thing in the entire suite that belonged exclusively to her. She had sold her soul to the Devil, and she hated to think that perhaps Nate had been right all along.

Well, what was done was done.

She dropped her carry-on on the bed before moving to the desk. She flipped open her Runway MacBook and cleared out her personal files before hedging a glance at her watch. She didn't have long before Miranda was due back from her post-luncheon event and she would rather swallow a handful of razor-blades than run into her in the lobby.

Andy pulled open the drawer of the desk and pulled out a piece of hotel stationary. She scribbled a quick note to explain the contents of the luggage and added a request that her Paris haul be passed on to Emily. She couldn't give her back Paris, but it was at least a start. She folded the note and scribbled Nigel's name on the front before grabbing another piece of paper intended solely for Miranda.

Her thoughts drifted to the woman in question, and decided that something short and blunt would suffice:

 _Miranda_ ,

_Not everyone._

_A._

She wrote quickly, ignoring the tremble in her hand before dropping the pen and leaving the note where it lay.

She surveyed the room quickly, satisfied she’d done what she could before moving towards the door, subconsciously straightening the edge of the bed she hadn’t slept in as she picked up her bag.

Andy glanced back to soak up the opulence one last time before turning her back on her life as an assistant to Miranda Priestly.

* * *

 

Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runwayand controller of all things fashion related from the streets of New York to the runways of Paris, was furious. Oh, she would get irritated often, angry occasionally, but furious? She was _never_ furious.

She stalked down the hall, directly to the room of one Andrea Sachs with a room key clutched tightly in her fist.

When she reached the door, she knocked. Hard. 'Andrea, open this door at once!'

When she received no reply she waited all of three seconds before swiping the card aggressively, only to be met with a red light and a still locked door.

Miranda took a breath, counted to five and reigned in her urge to kick the door in. She swiped the card again, slower this time, and when she heard a telltale click she pushed it open, stepping in without a word and allowing the door to swing closed behind her.

The room was immaculate, much like the work performed by this particular assistant up until two hours ago. It was also, however, empty aside from two suitcases which sat conspicuously in the centre of the room.

That, she hadn't expected.

She walked over to the desk and noted the _Runway_ issue laptop, a note with Nigel's name, and another next to it with her name printed clearly at the top.

She picked it up, and her eyes narrowed as she read the contents.

_Not everyone._

Of all the things she had thrown at the girl, it had been _that_ throwaway comment which had finally pushed Andrea over the edge. Not Starbucks runs, or changeable lunch orders. Not four-in-the-morning phone calls, impossible flights, and not even Harry Potter.

No, it had been her insinuation that Andrea Sachs - the idealistic, smart, fat girl, perched up on her moral high ground - could possibly be anything like her.

Miranda felt herself move towards the bed and sit down, still staring at the words in her hand. Andrea was gone. She was probably in a cab on her way to the airport right now. If Miranda knew the tenacious twenty-something like she thought she did, then she could well imagine she would race back to New York, give Emily a full and thorough handover, and have her desk cleared out before Miranda even stepped foot back in the city.

Christ, there would probably be some new, doe-eyed idiot perched at the second assistant's desk by the time she got back to the office.

Something uncontrollable began stirring in Miranda's chest as she crushed the paper in her hand. Laughter bubbled out of her mouth. It wasn't a cheerful sound, but rather something dark, and laced with a healthy dose of bitterness. It would seem that she had come so far that she couldn’t even pay someone to stay by her side anymore. 

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone, dialing Emily. The idiot had broken her leg which meant she remained completely useless to her.  
  
When Emily answered, Miranda didn't give her a chance to speak. 'Call Runway Paris and have them send me an assistant for the remainder of the week. Immediately,' she clipped before ending the call.  
  
Taking a deep breath she got to her feet and ignored the twinge in her calf from storming so rapidly through the hotel. She folded the damaged letter, pulled her shoulders back and steeled herself before exiting the room and returning to her suite. There was, after all, work still to be done.

* * *

 

Emily sat back in her chair, stunned as she lowered the phone from her ear.

She couldn’t believe it.

To be honest, she didn’t think Andrea Sachs, of all people, would have the balls to do something that insane.

She winced as she adjusted her leg under the desk before pulling up the number for HR. Miranda would be back on Monday and she’d be damned if she was going to let her return to see an empty desk outside her office.

_Bloody hell._

She had been _positive_ Andrea was just having some temporary meltdown when she called, blithering something about going to the airport, or being _at_ the airport. 24/7 with Miranda could send even the sanest individuals off the proverbial deep end.

She groaned and sunk her head into her hands.

As bitter as she was about Paris, there was little doubt in her mind that Andrea ‘do-no-wrong’ Sachs made her life easier. _Much_ easier. Now she would be facing a few weeks, or possibly _months_ of late nights and a doubled workload.

'Bollocks!' she cursed, slamming her fists down on the desk. She looked around quickly, realising there was no one there to witness her little outburst anyway. She was the only idiot stupid enough to be in the office before nine while all of the senior managers were away.

She pulled up the numbers for Runway Paris and scanned down the list looking for someone who would be willing to sacrifice an assistant on short notice. Miranda had sounded positively homicidal. What had Andrea said? She left a _note_. Fantastic. Add that to the divorce papers and she might as well just chop off her own head and offer it to the she-Demon on a platter because working for her was going to be unbearable.

As if on cue, her cell rang again and she looked down at her caller ID.

'I love my job, I love my job, I love my job,' Emily muttered as she plucked her phone up off the desk. 'Hi, Miranda,' she answered as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wondering what on Earth she had done in a past life to deserve this.

* * *

 

'Did you hear?' Serena whispered quietly into Nigel’s ear as they stood in the centre of Miranda's suite and watched her tear strips off the temp assistant sent over from Runway Paris. The girl had barely been in the room for five minutes, and yet Miranda had already found a number of apparently unforgivable faults. 

Nigel shook his head lightly, signalling her to continue.

'It was after the luncheon,' Serena continued, voice barely audible. 'Andrea left her stranded on Place de la Concorde—amidst the _paparazzo_ , no less.'

Nigel fought the urge to smirk. It was snarky and petty, but he felt he deserved it after today.

'Emily said she must have gone straight back to the hotel, grabbed her things, and then got on the first flight out. She left all of her couture behind, and a _note_.'

Nigel watched as the lip of the French girl standing in front of Miranda began trembling. He sighed and picked up his phone to dial Emily.

'There’s a rumour,' Serena continued quietly as he waited for Emily to pick up, 'that she even threw her phone in Les fontaines de la—'

Nigel held up a hand to cut Serena off. 'Emily?' he said. 'We’ll need a new girl tomorrow.'

Miranda’s last remaining assistant swore down the phone as he watched the temp’s tremble progress into full blown sobs. The waifer thin blonde then proceeded to turn and flee out the nearest door, Miranda rolling her eyes at the sight.

'Make that _now_ ,' he sighed before closing his phone with a snap.

Miranda looked up and they locked eyes across the room.

Her look said it all.

If he was looking for an apology for her current behaviour, or for what she had done earlier in the day, he was going to be waiting a  _very_ long time.

Nigel turned away and shook his head, lowering himself onto the nearest sofa in the suite. The weight of his career was suddenly resting heavily on his shoulders and he was exhausted.

There was little satisfaction in knowing that loyal little Andy Sachs had just set fire to her dreams of a career in journalism. He hoped it wasn’t out of some misguided sense of justice solely on his behalf.

No one walked away from Miranda Priestly and lived to tell the tale on the streets of New York. Regardless of her reasons, there would be little he could do for her if Miranda decided to blacklist her from every publication on the Eastern seaboard. Not to mention the Western, Northern and Southern. The girl would be lucky to get a job back in Cincinnati if Miranda decided to destroy her.

He felt a shift next to him as Serena took a seat, pulling him back to the present.

'Emily’s organising a replacement,' he said to Miranda, indicating to the door with his head as he pulled his notes from his bag and the Devil herself took a seat before them.

Miranda sniffed in displeasure before turning her attention back to work. 'Tomorrow,' she said simply, waving a hand even as he pulled an exceptionally well organised folder, courtesy of one Andy Sachs towards him.

So, business as usual then.

Nigel was beginning to think that maybe Andy Sachs was the smartest of them all.

* * *

 

When she returned to her suite later that evening, Miranda locked the door and walked straight to the sideboard and to the bottle of scotch resting there.

She grabbed the bottle and a glass before making her way toward the balcony, kicking off her 4 and a half inch heels as she went. She slid the door open with her toes and made her way to one of the chairs, pouring a quadruple measure before setting the bottle down and taking a seat.

It wasn’t warm out.

She didn’t particularly care.

It had been the day from hell.

Well, the second consecutive day from hell if you included Stephen’s little surprise yesterday.

What is it they say? Bad things always come in threes? Her luck would have it that tomorrow her daughters would decide to up and leave her too, and then she would truly be alone.

She had seen the look in Nigel’s eyes this afternoon. He was the only person she considered a friend among her peers, and she highly doubted he would call her the same right now, if ever again.

He had been blind-sided and she knew it. Not only had she stripped him of a position he rightfully deserved, she had also trampled all over his pride in the process. She had been too busy worrying about the execution of her plan to even think about giving him a warning.

He had handled it admirably, she thought as she lifted the glass to her lips.

Regardless, in hindsight, she should have given him some warning. It wouldn’t have been impossible. She should have had Andrea do it. The girl had proven she could be trusted.

Well, until this afternoon that was.  
  
What a mess _._  
  
She had built an empire, achieved greatness that very few women of her generation ever managed to achieve and yet, for all her hard work, the world still deemed her fit for punishment.

While her colleagues boasted doting wives and happy children to go home to, she was heading towards her third divorce, and once again the root cause of it all was her job.  
  
Why was it that men continued to be able to build both their professional and personal lives successfully, without fear of recrimination for tough decisions and personal sacrifice, whilst she was splattered across page 6 and painted a monster?  
  
_Behind every great man is a great woman,_ she reminded herself.  _Not the other way around._  
  
Today would have been viewed as a strategic victory for them. For her it just secured her status as the vicious, vindictive ‘Ice Queen.’ Lord, how she hated  _that_ particular moniker.  
  
Regardless, she would not apologize for her actions. She refused to toe the line of everyone else’s insipid expectations. She would not yield. No one knew the things she had done to get where she was; the sacrifices she had had to make.  
  
She cursed Stephen and his God-awful timing, but above all else she cursed that silly slip of a girl who had somehow managed to tilt her world on its axis more than anyone else before her.

She was completely justified in her actions.

She did what anyone in her position would do to protect their livelihood, and yet Andrea had sat there, judged her, and had found her wanting.  
  
She felt righteous anger flood her veins as she gripped her glass until her knuckles turned white.  
  
She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and hit a familiar speed dial. The number clicked straight over to voicemail once again and she tossed the phone aside in frustration.

As it clattered across the table she felt her anger increase.  
  
How  _dare_  she, Miranda thought.  
  
She was nothing more than a silly little twenty-something who’s wide eyed optimism would be crushed under the weight of the real world in no time.

She slammed her glass down on the table and stood up, walking to the railing of her private balcony to look out over the Paris skyline.

The light from her five star penthouse suite guided her way, shining light out into the darkness.

 _Everyone wants this_ , she reiterated to herself.

As she looked to her left, the darkness coming from the room adjacent to her own seemed to mock her.  
  
_Not everyone._


	2. Ruined

**November 2006  
(Months since Paris: 1)**

  
Miranda threw her glasses down on her desk.

'What is it now?' she snapped viciously at the terrified, mousy looking creature before her.

'W-well—'

'By all means, take your time _Emily_. What you have to say is clearly of supreme importance to me that it’s worth wasting my entire evening waiting for it.'

She watched the girl’s face pale.

'I-it’s your lawyers Miranda, that’s the twelfth time they’ve called, th-they said it's important you speak to them tonight,' she managed to stammer out.

'I told you to handle it. Did I stutter?'

'No! No of cours—'

'Get out,' Miranda said quietly, turning her attention back to her desk and pulling some copy towards her.

The girl squeaked like the little mouse she was and skittered back to her desk.

 _Unbearable_.

'What do you think you’re doing _Emily_?' Miranda said, loud enough that it could be heard in the outer office.

'I—' the girl began to call back.

'For Christ's sake! Get up you idiot!' she heard the real Emily hiss.

The mousy creature was back in her doorway in a flash.

'I said Get- _Out_ ,' Miranda reiterated, before turning her attention back to her work.

_5…4…3…2—_

'But, Miranda, I—'

Miranda held up her hand to silence the girl, not bothering to look up.

'Emily,' she called nonchalantly.

'Yes, Miranda?' Emily responded, in record time considering her injury.

'Deal with,' Miranda paused, raising her eyes to scan the girl who was still standing in her office looking like an oxygen starved goldfish, ' _H_ _er.'_

'Of course, Miranda,' she replied, grabbing the girl by the arm and tugging her out of her sight.

Miranda sighed and leaned back in her chair, attempting to relax her face. The urge to frown was overwhelming this week.

Well, not just this week.

If she was truly honest, she had been in a horrific mood since Paris.

When Fashion Week had ended, she had been forced to return immediately to New York, minus one assistant and bypassing the menswear showcase in Florence.

Ever since the events of October, there had not been a single moment’s peace to be found. If it wasn’t endless calls from her lawyers, then it was the fury of two small red-heads who had seen fit to punish her at every turn for the sudden onslaught of media attention and vicious taunts from their classmates.

To top it all off, Emily had failed to come up with a single competent Second, once again.

The fact that she had fired the first replacement on sight, simply because the girl was wearing a cerulean blouse was beside the point. The following two offerings, tonight’s sacrifice included, were a result of Emily’s blatant attempt to hire women that in no way resembled _her_ , and the Englishwoman’s lack of subtlety was beginning to irk her.

She had had more than enough of Emily’s preening over the fact that _she_ had walked out, as if it was some point of proof that she was above the mediocrity she had displayed since the brunette in question had challenged her position and left her exposed as the substandard, second-rate employee of the pair.

Emily was severely testing her patience, and regardless of her loyalty, Miranda wanted her gone. She wanted this chapter closed, for good.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly and glanced at the clock. It was almost 9:00pm. Another hour and she could avoid another evening of tantrums and accusatory stares. It was spineless, using work as an excuse to avoid her temperamental children, but the constant barrage from all quarters of her life was beginning to take its toll.

She was _exhausted._

At least work was something she could control.

The phone began ringing, pulling her from her reverie.

'Emily,' she said, irritated at the interruption.

When there was no response, she snarled and picked it up herself.

'What?' she demanded.

'Miranda?' a male voice asked down the line.

'No, the Queen-of-bloody-England,' she snarked in response.

She was getting out of control and she knew it.

To his credit, he didn't flinch. 'Of course, my apologies,' he said directly. 'I didn’t mean to disturb you, I was hoping to catch Emily before she went home for the evening. We’ve had a request for a reference for an…Andy Sachs? She’s listed as your second assistant, but we have no record of her resignation.'

Miranda knew exactly why there was no record, given that that particular letter was currently locked securely in a desk in her home study.

'Publication?' Miranda asked.

'The New York Mirror.'

'Position?'

'Junior Reporter.'

'I’ll handle it,' Miranda said, before hanging up the phone with more force than she initially intended.

_Andrea._

She couldn’t believe the gall of the girl. Anyone with half a brain would have scrapped Runway from their resumé and simply pretended they’d been off backpacking around Europe for the better part of a year.

But, no. Oh no, Saint _Andrea_ would never be anything other than be completely upfront with her employer.

Unless of course she decided to run out on them, then she simply resorted to a single paltry line worth of a resignation.  
  
_Not everyone._

Miranda would do almost anything to scrape those two words in particular out of her memory. They seemed to be permanently ingrained, cropping up at the most inopportune moments and making her second guess every snarky comment and self-serving decision.

It was infuriating.  
  
She was 51-years-old and had never once questioned herself or her actions, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now. Yet, nothing had been right since Paris. She hadn’t felt like herself and couldn’t for the life of her nail down the root cause of it all.

If she didn't know any better she would be seriously considering that she was having a long overdue breakdown.

She reached across her desk and grabbed a piece of Runway letterhead and a pen.

 _I hope you fall on your face_ , she thought as she put pen to paper.

 _Of all the assistants I have ever had_ , she wrote, _Andrea Sachs was by far my **biggest** disappointment. _

She considered leaving it there, until she heard Emily return cursing and images of an overly chipper brunette taking on every challenge thrown her way, and excelling above and beyond the call of duty flooded her memory.

She growled in frustration as she quickly scribbled one final line:

 _If you don’t hire her, you’re an idiot_.

She finished with her signature underneath and the knowledge that she was probably going to regret this every day for the rest of her life.

She stood up abruptly from her desk and stalked out in to the main office, startling Emily out of some daydream or another.

'Fax machine?' she demanded.

Emily stared at her like she had lost her mind, before pointing behind the now empty second assistant’s desk.

'Get me the direct fax number for Greg what’s-his-name at the Mirror,' she ordered, tapping her foot impatiently as Emily pulled up her contacts list and rattled off a number.

Miranda ferociously punched in the digits before hitting send hard enough to rattle the flimsy desk the machine was situated on. She waited for confirmation that it had sent before she strolled over to the shredder and forced the hard-copy through.

Bracing her hands on either side of the machine she closed her eyes against the headache building up behind her eyes. 'Go home Emily, I’ll wait for the book tonight.'  
  
'Miranda, are you su—'  
  
'Go,' she ordered, 'Now.'  
  
She could feel her breathing becoming laboured as she squeezed her eyes tighter. It was only when she heard the familiar ding of the elevator that she finally let the weight of the last month settle itself on her chest.

As a stray tear dropped onto her hand, her eyes snapped open and she sniffed, straightening her back and raising her chin.

It was a ridiculous display, and in the office no less.

She chided herself, shaking off the moment of weakness and returning to her desk. She counted herself lucky that no one had stumbled in on her little performance. There was only one employee aside from Nigel who had ever seen her at less than the indomitable Miranda Priestly and that was—

 _No, no. Let’s not go there either_ , she admonished.  
  
She began gathering her things. It was blatantly obvious she wouldn’t be getting anything productive done tonight.

Her mind was whirling as she slid into her coat and flicked off the lights. Snippets of late night conversations in her study, and wry jokes shared in the back of the town car were invading her thoughts unbidden. She had done her utmost to put all thoughts of that _silly_ girl to rest, however she could no longer ignore the reality. The last four weeks hadn’t been awful simply because of the divorce, the attempted ousting, Nigel’s noticeably cooler demeanour, or even the attitudes of the twins. There had been one additional element she hadn’t counted on; something she had simply assumed would be there, unwavering in its support as everything else came crashing down.

No, it hadn’t been any of that that had finally brought her to her knees.

It had been _her._  
  
Andrea Elizabeth Sachs had _ruined_ her.


	3. Long Suffering Assistants and Page Three Bylines

**April, 2007  
(Months since Paris: 6)**

Emily Charlton, long-suffering (and size 0 thank-you-very-much) assistant to Miranda Priestly had finally earned her stripes and would be moving on to become a Junior Creative Director. It had been her dream since graduating with a Masters of Fine Arts from London’s esteemed Royal College of Art four years ago.

The last six months had been absolute hell and she was amazed she had almost managed to pass through unscathed. There was no doubt in her mind that she deserved this promotion. After close to two and half years of obscenely long hours, not to mention the ridiculous amounts of bullshit she had had to put up with on account of the mercurial, white haired demon that ruled her life, by God she had earned it.

It had been six months since the Paris Fashion Week disaster. Six months since Stephen filed for divorce one day, and ‘She-who-must-not-be-named’ bolted the next. Since then, Emily had taken it upon herself to ensure that Miranda’s life ran as smoothly as possible, and for the past couple of months, things had been ticking over nicely. She wasn’t sure why she bothered—her boss as ungrateful as ever—but a part of her felt responsible for the old witch, and ever since Paris, Miranda had been…off.

She could hear Serena admonishing her in her head, telling her she was being paranoid, citing off the number psychotic behaviours Miranda had displayed on that single day alone.

And yes, sure, she was still the demanding, generally unreasonable pain in the arse she had always been. In fact, she had been even more vicious than before.

Yet, there was something missing.

Emily had yet to put her finger on exactly what it was, but Miranda seemed a little…flat. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist as she absentmindedly made some adjustments to Miranda’s evening schedule, the Posen party now a requirement.

What it was, she didn’t know, but she could certainly recall a time when there would be a flicker of maniacal glee in Miranda’s eyes as she set a task she knew would make her assistants run around in a blind panic for. Especially the new ones.  
  
Now she didn’t seem to care all that much. It was like her heart simply wasn’t in it. These days she simply fired them if they breathed too loudly.

God, those first few weeks after Paris were horrendous. Not only had Miranda chewed through an assistant a day in Paris itself, but she also managed to fire three girls within her first month back at the office. The next two had barely lasted a couple of weeks, until Kristen. At Kristen she seemed to lose steam. Kristen was passable, and for that Emily was beyond thankful and also extremely bitter.

The Miranda Emily knew would have punished her for Andrea’s insubordination. The Miranda she knew would have chained her to the first assistant’s desk for another year—at the very least—for ever allowing Andrea-bloody-Sachs to step foot inside the Elias-Clark building, regardless of the fact Miranda had been the one to hire her in the first place. Andrea’s failings would have become Emily’s failings. Miranda would have dangled the Creative Department position in front of her like a carrot and made her run until she bled.

However, instead of punishing her until the end of time, Miranda now seemed determined to have her gone as soon as possible. She just dropped the offer in her lap, said her time was up, and that was that. They didn’t even have a second in place, and Kristen!? Kristen was the sixth hire in six months! Kristen’s only qualification for the job was that she was the only one to last longer than two months at the post since Andrea left. It was bloody demeaning! She, Emily Francesca Charlton, had worked her arse off, sacrificing her social life, love life, and bloody sanity to secure that promotion to first, and now this blue-eyed, blonde-haired, bobble-headed fucking Barbie Doll was going to stroll straight in and take it after eleven weeks, and then proceed to swan out with a nice promotion in half the time it had taken Emily to secure one!

It was all bloody Andrea’s fault.

This she knew, without a doubt.

None of them were _Andrea_ , and none of them would ever be _Andrea_ ; and now it appeared that if Miranda couldn’t have _Andrea_ then she didn’t give a rat’s arse about who sat outside her office, answered her calls and bloody damn near sprinted to get her Starbucks every morning.

For Christ’s sake, the woman had essentially spat in Miranda’s face. Publicly. Not to mention that if the rumours held true, they were all damn well lucky there wasn’t a picture slapped in the middle of page six with the brunette petulantly throwing her cell into that bloody fountain. She smirked as she imagined what the press would have done with that, especially with the snap divorce. Jilted lover perhaps? She would have killed to have seen Andrea's face at the suggestion of that. 

Regardless, Emily thought, shaking her head - that idiot had destroyed the chances of hundreds of women because she had, up until that point, done her job too-bloody-well. Hell, Emily thanked her lucky stars Miranda was still rewarding her for what she now considered a sub-par performance in the face of the indomitable Sachs, even if the timing was all-bloody-wrong. Assistants were never supposed to become irreplaceable, especially not those who served under Miranda Priestly. Andrea had thrown a wrench into a system that had worked perfectly for decades, and now it was all off kilter.

'Emily,' the quiet voice broke her out of her thoughts and summoned her to the office.  
  
'Yes, Miranda?' she responded automatically, the phrase as natural as breathing to her now.   
  
'Have Kristen deliver the book this evening, and start interviewing her replacement tomorrow. You’ve been here long enough, and I want you gone by the end of the week. That’s all,' Miranda finished, the dismissal clear in her tone.

Emily watched the older woman. Almost three sentences. That was what more than two years of loyal service had brought.

She shook her head briefly and bit back a sigh, 'Of course, Miranda.'

Maybe Serena was right.

Maybe it was simply time to let it go, and move on.

* * *

 

'Did you know Andy Sachs was still in New York?' Nigel asked casually as he leant over the prints from the first advanced summer shoot. 

Emily's head shot up.

Nigel had been gracious enough to allow her to jump straight into the thick of things, and the day she moved on from Miranda's glass cage had been the day she had decided to forget all about Andrea-bloody-Sachs and the six months of ensuing torture she had rained down on her head. 

It had been less than a week. The woman was _menace_.

Emily shook off her shock. 'What is she? A barista at Starbucks?' she snorted, before turning her attention back to the task at hand, pulling a photo and subbing in another one.

Nigel nodded in approval at the change before straightening up, reaching over to the desk behind him and grabbing a newspaper. He flicked through a couple of pages before folding it in half and dropping it under her nose.

'Second article down, something about inner city women’s shelters,' he said as he turned his focus back to the prints, eyeing her over the rim of his glasses.

She snatched up the paper and scanned the article before her, her jaw dropping.

'I-impossible,' she stuttered. 'I mean, there’s no way Mi—it’s bloody impossible Nigel!' she reiterated in frustration.

'Apparently not,' Nigel replied.

'She left her stranded in Paris for Christ’s sake! In the middle of bloody Fashion Week!'

'And yet there she is. On page three no less,' he said mildly. 'It would appear our doe-eyed little Ohioan is either truly unstoppable, or the Dragon let her pass through unscathed.'

'She wouldn’t!' Emily protested, her tone bordering on a whine. 

Nigel simply raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Emily bristled. 'Have you spoken to her?'

'Who? Miranda?'

'No, _her_ ,' she said, waving at the article.

'Since Paris? No,' he admitted. 'I never bothered to ask her for her personal cell. She always had her work phone.'

Emily nodded. They rarely bothered getting each others personal contact details because they were always at the office anyway. Even so, a smidgen of guilt entered her gut. Although she liked to blame Andrea for everything, she hadn't been _that_ bad. In fact, until Paris, they had made a pretty good team; even if her constantly chipper attitude was irritating.

'God, I’d hate to be in the firing line when Miranda hears about this,' she muttered as she flung the newspaper away from their workspace.

'Hmm,' Nigel hummed, non-committedly.

Emily stared at the man across from her as he simply shrugged his shoulders.

She shook off the nagging sense of suspicion that there was something she was missing, before returning back to her work.

* * *

 

'Did you hear about And—' the conversation came to a sudden halt as she rounded the corner, and Miranda quelled the immediate urge to roll her eyes. Instead she stopped, crossed her arms, and silently raised her brow in question.

'I-I was j-just,' the model in question stammered, before looking towards her co-conspirator for support.

'Yes, I’m sure you were,' Miranda drawled in response, enjoying the terror on the dark-haired Latina’s face. If the girl hadn’t been so vital to today’s shoot she would have taken great pleasure in having her thrown from the building. 'Don’t you both have some place to be?' she asked coolly, not expecting an answer.

As the two women scampered in the direction of make-up, she shook her head.

She had been in off-site meetings all morning, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware that a name she had all but banned in the halls of Runway had suddenly resurfaced. It was being muttered quietly behind closed doors among those who had been acquainted with a certain brunette, and even those who had not.

The gossip mongering hadn’t taken long to grace her ears. Despite what her employees apparently thought, she wasn’t, in-fact, deaf. It helped immensely, she supposed, that she was surrounded by a bunch of twittering 12-year-olds who, it would appear, had little else to occupy their time. That was something, however, which could be easily rectified.

As she walked in the direction of her office, she pieced together what she had gleaned over the course of the morning. It appeared that Andrea had taken the reference she had provided to that god-awful, idealistic rag and actually put it to good use.

Was she surprised? Not entirely.

Was she intrigued? Certainly _not._

As she threw her coat and bag at her second assistant, she smiled in satisfaction at the cup of coffee awaiting her at her desk.

As she sat down, she reached immediately for the steaming Starbucks cup before turning on her laptop.

Kristen was in front of her desk a moment later.

'I pushed Nigel up to eleven thirty, and the accessories team have been told to be ready to start immediately after. He’s on his way now.'

'Good,' she nodded, surveying the blonde over her cup. Kristen was tall, blonde, and without closer inspection one would be liable to pass her off as a high school cheerleader. However, she had a no-nonsense attitude that Miranda appreciated, barely smiled and was markedly less hysterical than Emily. Miranda had yet to see the girl flustered, and given who she was working for, that was quite the feat. Her logic driven demeanour had brought a sense of calm into the office at a time when she needed it, and Miranda had found the reduction in frenetic energy to be exactly what she had required since.

As she spotted Nigel over the girl’s shoulder, she nodded her head in dismissal before waving him in.

'We’ve pushed back two hours, Steven had a change of mind on the lighting,' he said without preamble as he side stepped Kristen.

Miranda shook her head imperceptibly.

'I know, but I agree with him on this one. I went down to the location this morning.'

'I trust your judgment,' she replied with a nod.

She watched as Nigel paused and eyed her carefully.

'Was there something else?' she demanded.

'She’s the talk of the office, so I’m assuming you’ve heard?'

'An ex-assistant writes an article, and I’m supposed to be, what? Astounded?' she drawled.

Nigel simply raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Miranda glared in response and his grin widened.

'I _knew_ you had a soft spot for her,' he said, chuckling as he turned on his heel and exited quickly.

Miranda clenched her fists. She should tear him a new one for the sheer gall of the comment, but the icy brick wall that had erected itself between them following Paris was only just beginning to thaw. It wasn’t worth it. She missed their collaboration, their easy back and forth. The stilted conversation had grown old quickly, and she was willing to make one or two small concessions to ensure it didn’t return.

She stared at her laptop, her fingers twitching.

Reaching over she closed it abruptly. The compulsion to pull up the online edition of the _New York Mirror_ was stronger than she expected. Not that she cared what that childish woman did with herself. Word had it that she had thrown her company phone in Les fontaines de la Concorde shortly after her abrupt departure.

Yes, _childish._

No, Miranda didn’t care what Andrea Sachs did or did not do with her once promising future. She simply wanted to see if the idiot girl had lived up to her expectations: a subpar journalist at a mid-level paper with that big, idealistic chip still on her overly moral shoulders.

Miranda pushed her laptop away in disgust. She hadn’t had to think about the silly brunette in months. Yet now, with that phone rumour which never abated, and her sudden re-emergence in the Mirror, she was quickly becoming an urban legend at Elias-Clark. Rumours of throwing assistants from windows she could abide, but this? No, this would not do at all.

'Kristen,' she called.

'Yes, Miranda?' the woman in question responded quickly, standing at attention in her doorway.

'Please inform the staff that I will assume the next person spending valuable work time gossiping about articles in that insipid rag the _Mirror_ has too much time on their hands and would prefer employment elsewhere.'

Kristen nodded.

'And tell Accessories I wanted them here five minutes ago. That’s all.'

'Of course, Miranda,' she said without hesitation, before excusing herself.

No, she wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about Andrea Sachs.

 


	4. Meet Cute

**October 2007  
(Months since Paris: 12) **

Andy Sachs, reporter extraordinaire, and apparent expert dumpster diver had just landed the break she needed. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly _legal_ per _se_ , but people really should be more careful with how they disposed of their personal documentation.

It wasn’t about to be used on the record, but it would be enough to convince her editor that there was at least a story to pursue, as she had been trying to tell him for the better part of two weeks.

She flicked a piece of God-knows-what from the leg of her jeans and cringed as it hit the pavement with a splat. Shuddering, she pulled the straps of her backpack a little tighter and beelined it to the nearest Starbucks; a Starbucks she just so happened to be intimately familiar with.

Andy chuckled under her breath at the thought of anyone from Runway recognising her in her current attire. She looked like a poor college student, however, it was early enough in the morning on a Saturday that the likelihood of that happening was minimal. It had just gone five thirty and there was little doubt it was October. The sun was at least an hour or two away yet, and winter was definitely crawling into the city.

Pulling her coat a little tighter, she pushed opened the door.

The bell jingled overhead and she strolled over to the familiar counter, beaming a smile at the barista.

'Quad shot long black, grande,' she ordered before pondering the display case to her left. 'Oh, _God_ and whatever _that_ is,' she said, pointing towards a large scone with a delectable looking rim of melted cheese dangling from the edges. She could feel the saliva rush to her mouth. She hadn’t eaten since late last night. She also wasn’t sure if ramen noodles, at her desk, at eleven thirty while racing towards a print deadline was classified as valid nutrition.

The tall brunette with the pixie cut and an impressive array of tattoos up one forearm smirked as she grabbed the obscenely large scone and fired it in the grill behind her. 'Butter?' she asked, with a glint in her eye that was a little to the left of innocent.

Andy titled her head slightly. 'Please,' she said with a smile which bordered on flirty. She was feeling a little cocky this morning. Either that or the lack of sleep was finally catching up.

The barista's laugh tinkled across the empty café in response as she moved to make her coffee. 'Here, or to go?'

Andy looked around and eyed a table near the window. If she worked fast enough she could have pitch done and over to Greg before she finished her coffee, and then go home for a long, blissful sleep.

'Here,' Andy said.

'Okay, take a seat,' the barista said, waving the still empty handle in her hand, 'I'll bring it over when it's ready.'

'I'll just be by the window,' Andy said, readjusting her bag, 'Thanks...uh...'

'...Kelly,' the barista provided with broad smile.

Andy felt a flush run up her neck and nodded quickly in thanks, turning away before the blush hit her cheeks.

She heard a light chuckle behind her as she walked away.

 

* * *

 

'Pull over,' Miranda sighed as she rubbed at her eyes. She was in desperate need of coffee.

Roy was quick to follow orders as always, and Miranda pushed the door open as soon as they reached the curb, ignoring his offer to go inside for her.

She was a grown woman. She was quite sure she could manage coffee. Besides, it was before six on a Saturday. No one from her staff would be around to—God forbid— _see_ her getting her own coffee. Roy was a good driver, but she didn’t trust him to get her coffee order right and today was not a day she wished to drink coffee that was less than absolute perfection.

The print run was scheduled for Monday evening, and thanks to a couple of _horrific_ showings from her staff, she was forced to head into the office at this obscene hour of the morning so she could ensure her afternoon was free for the girls.

She had been working extra hard the last few months to reduce the number of broken promises and shattered dreams in her household.

Thankfully, it seemed to be working.

She had absolutely no desire to relive the six months that had followed her most recent divorce ever again, and had made sure the girls were given zero reasons to consider relocating to their father's.

Miranda couldn't deny the toll the divorce took on her home life, or her public image. Yet, for all they printed about her, those bottom feeders continued to fail in their attempts to strip her of her power - and as the bell sounded above her head, she couldn't help the amused smile that fought its way to her lips as the barista behind the counter glanced up and then paled considerably upon her approach.

Her revelry in the moment was cut short, however.

'Fuck!' a voice swore, coupled with the sound of something hitting the floor violently behind her.

Miranda spun around, only to be faced with the idiotic, dumbstruck expression of none other than Andrea Sachs. She stared for a second too long before schooling her features back to something she hoped resembled unaffected as opposed to outright shocked.

Andrea scrambled to pick up the surprisingly intact saucer, crumbs scattering around her, before she stood up and caught her eye.

'Mi—' she started.

'No, no. Don’t even say it,' Miranda said in warning, watching the girl fumble as she was cut off.

Miranda turned her back on her. 'One no-foam skim latte with an extra shot,' she demanded at the barista, 'And charge it to the Runway account.'

The short haired girl took off like a shot to start her order and Miranda was left standing dumbly in the middle of the café.

She tapped her foot impatiently, ignoring the feeling of eyes burning into the back of her skull.

The silence in the room was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of the milk being steamed for her latte.

Another customer entered, but it didn’t seem to break the rising tension.

She could practically feel Andrea drawing up her confidence to say something. The girl - well,  _woman_ \- was never so readily dismissed. She always needed to have the last word, even from the first day she had stepped into Miranda’s realm and proceeded to turn it upside down.

Well, she wasn’t going to have the pleasure today.

Miranda looked down at her watch before she turned on her heel and stalked towards the exit.

'I’ll be in my car,' she said to the barista, as though deliveries were an everyday part of the service. Without sparing a glance at Andrea, she strode back out the door.

* * *

 

Andy slumped back down into her chair and stared dumbstruck at the retreating form of Miranda Priestly as the door closed.

She couldn’t believe it.

Her day had gone from brilliant, all the way down to the fiery pits of hell in the time it had taken _one_ woman to step through the door of a Starbucks.

What on Earth was Miranda doing here!?

La Priestly doesn’t get her own coffee.

The only reason she had _ever_ risked coming to a Starbucks this close to Elias-Clark was the knowledge that Miranda would never, in a million years, step foot in the café herself.

Andy would never admit that she also—on _occasion—_ quite enjoyed watching her harried looking replacements race in for the morning coffee order. It satisfied an urge in her to have some insight into what was happening at Runway. The frequency with which the assistants changed was usually a pretty good indicator of how things were going in the office of La Priestly, but ever since the blonde with the cool, bored demeanour started, there had been only one other girl, so she could assume things were fairly stable for the time being.

Andy was quite sure this was all just the after effects of Stockholm syndrome.

She spun her empty scone plate idly in her hands, watching as Kelly secured the lid on Miranda’s coffee.

'Someone still needs to sign for this,' Kelly muttered as she picked up the Runway account and apologised to the customer still waiting.

'Leave that,' Andy called out, suddenly on her feet.

She strolled over to the counter and plucked the coffee from the Kelly's hand.

'Serve him,' she said, indicating to the middle-aged guy who was checking his Blackberry, 'And just add this to my bill,' she finished before heading out the door.

The heat of the coffee began searing her hand as soon as she hit the pavement. It managed to pierce through the little cardboard protector and Andy cursed as she began juggling it to save her fingers.

She spotted Miranda’s signature silver Mercedes immediately, and steeled herself for what was likely to be a very unpleasant few moments of exchange.

Over the course of the last year, she had admittedly wondered what would happen if she ran into Miranda again. Of course, in _her_ version, it would be at some fabulous publishing event being held in her honour, at which point she could lord her success over her former employer and prove that she had been right all along to petulantly throw her work cell into a fountain.

That act alone, and the manner with which she had resigned was the reason she knew she couldn’t back out now, even as she felt her heart rate spike and her hands begin to sweat.

She had come too far.

A year ago she had acted like a coward, and she wasn’t about to repeat the experience. It was a part of her life that felt unfinished. She had never really seen it through to the end.

Not to mention she owed Miranda for that reference, and she hated owing her anything. In fact, she was quite sure Miranda only gave her that reference to piss her off and prove that, even though she had walked away, she wasn’t really free. That she would never _be_ free.

So, with a swagger in her step and a face full of bravado she didn’t necessarily feel, she waltzed straight up to the town car and rapped on the window, ready to face La Priestly.

 _Thank you for the reference, I really appreciate it_ , she thought, practicing the words in her head.

As the window rolled down, Andy opened her mouth before Miranda had the chance to rebuff her once again.

'Starbucks doesn’t actually have a drive-through service,' she blurted, the sarcasm impossible to miss.

Horror dawned in her mind and she fought the urge to wince. Antagonising the woman hadn’t been her plan at _all_. She probably should have considered this after she’d had eight hours of sleep.

To her credit, Miranda managed to cover her surprise quite admirably before her face transformed into something that would probably best be described as…flinty.

'Well it would appear you seem to know their policies quite well, _Emily_. Who knew those lofty aspirations lay in the direction of the service industry, hmm?' she smirked coldly. 'Although,' she continued, tilting her head in thought as she dragged her eyes over Andy’s form in a way that was chillingly familiar, 'You always were rather good at _fetching_ , so I suppose congratulations are in order,' she finished, lips pursed as she had apparently absorbed the entirety of Andy’s outfit.

Andy bit back a wince. Any idea she may have had that the level of Miranda's viciousness was perhaps the exaggeration of a tired, overworked mind were quickly being decimated. The Dragon of her nightmares was indeed real, and she had decided to bait her.

There was a way out of this, deep down Andy knew this even as she opened her mouth to respond. 'Fetching? _Oh_ , you mean _this_ _?'_  she asked, her face the picture of innocence as she indicated towards the steaming cup in her hand. 'Surely you don't mean this?' she continued, waving the cup lightly with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 'You see, if someone orders something on an account, they actually have to sign for it first, which makes this an abandoned cup of coffee which  _I_ paid for.' 

She had a death wish.

She was quite sure of it.  
  
A year ago Miranda Priestly, against her better judgment, had actually given her a reference instead of blackballing her out of the publishing industry for life. Now, here she was, poking at the woman with a stick just to see if she would bite.

Andy watched as Miranda’s glare moved from flinty to downright fucking frosty. She decided to bail on the sudden idea to take a swig from the cup, choosing instead to pass it through the window in an exchange reminiscent of so many that had come before.

She caught the older woman's eye as she held the cup out in offering.

Miranda eyed her for what felt like an age, before she silently reached for the coffee.

Andy maintained her grip on the cup. 'Thank you, Miranda,' she said sincerely, before she released her grip and pulled her hand away from the window.

With that, she turned on her heel and strode back in the direction of Starbucks.

* * *

 

Miranda sat in the back of her town car, a steaming hot latte clutched in her hand as her eyes trailed after the retreating form of one Andrea Sachs.  
  
Like the whirlwind she had always been, Andrea had blown in and then disappeared as quickly as she had come. She had taken her completely off guard. She couldn’t recall the woman ever being so _bold._ She felt frazzled and unbalanced.

As the door to Starbucks closed once more, she snapped her eyes up catching Roy’s incredulous look in the mirror. He looked as stunned as she felt.

Something resembling a knowing look passed between them, an acknowledgement of the woman Miranda knew to be Roy’s favourite assistant to date. She broke eye contact, turning to put the window up. She felt off kilter, and she wasn’t about to let anyone see her weakness, not even Roy.

'Go,' she barked.

As the car pulled back out into traffic, it took everything in her power to stop herself from glancing back.


	5. Ships in the Night

Miranda Priestly stared at the Starbucks cup still sitting in the corner of her desk like it was poison.

If she took a sip from it, it would be like admitting defeat and accepting a _thank you_ which had been as succinct as the _resignation_ from the days of notes-left-behind-in-hotel-rooms past.

_Thank you, Miranda._

Thank you for what exactly?

Thank you for taking a chance on me even though I was unprepared for my interview, had a terrible taste in fashion, and absolutely no knowledge of the industry?

Thank you for not destroying my career when you had the chance?

Thank you for in-fact _giving_ me a reference, even though I didn’t deserve it, enabling me to write articles that are allegedly quite good?

No, no. She didn’t want, nor did she  _need_  a thank you from Andrea Sachs.  
  
She did however, need coffee.  
  
It would be cold by now. She knew it even as she stared at it.  
  
_You really need to work on your caffeine addiction_ , she thought as she stood up, snatched the cup from the desk and stalked through to the kitchenette to reheat it.  
  
She paced back and forth in front of the microwave.  
  
The woman was obviously mentally ill.  
  
Never in her life had anyone dared to speak to her in such a manner.  _Especially_  after she had gone out of her way to do them a  _favour._ Andrea Sachs should have been falling at her feet and fawning all over her Prada platforms. She should have been grovelling for forgiveness for her past actions, apologising for her childish behaviour.

But no, she had…what exactly  _was_ that?

 _Sass_ , she thought. That’s what that had been.

Andrea Sachs, lowly twenty-something, the world’s most disappointing ex-employee, had come up to her window of her own volition and had _sassed_ her.

The woman was an absolute mess. What little she had learned at Runway had obviously slipped out of her vacant little head. She had looked like an overgrown child. Her hair was a disaster, and she obviously hadn’t slept, and yet _still_ she had the gall to act lofty and superior.

Miranda glared at the cup still making its way around slowly.

Perhaps she had been drunk. That would certainly explain the bravado.

Either that, or the last 11 months or so in the bullpen of the Mirror had seen the woman develop a spine.

 _And an attitude_ , she thought dryly.

Miranda’s mouth quirked at its edges before she could stop it.  
  
She growled aloud at herself before snatching the coffee out of the microwave.  
  
It absolutely was  _not_  funny.

* * *

 

'Coffee, Miranda?' Roy asked, as they drove through the streets of Manhattan again the following Saturday.

She glanced up from the article she was reading, catching his eye in the mirror and raising her brow.

'Very funny,' she said as she returned to her copy of the Times.

After close to fourteen years of driving her around, she was quite certain that Roy knew her better than she knew herself, although she would never admit it. He had borne witness to her lengthy pregnancy, the subsequent exhaustion that followed the birth of twins and attempting to return to work as soon as humanly possible. He had been there through three divorces, and the devastating death of her father.

They shared a mutual respect, one resulting from his absolute discretion at all times and her sincere appreciation for his steadfast loyalty. She had very little doubt that he had been offered an absolute fortune to divulge information on her at her worst, but one thing she knew for certain was that he had never taken it.

She rustled her paper before folding it up and putting it to the side with a huff.

Over the past week she had spent more time than she cared to admit recalling her brief conversation with Andrea _._ It irritated her to no end that Andrea had managed to catch her off guard, and then proceeded to have the final word.

She had had more than enough of being left feeling trumped by Andrea Sachs and she couldn’t for the life of her understand how she had allowed it to happen not once, but _twice._

Miranda Priestly, one-upped by an employee-cum-ex-employee? The thought alone was absurd.

She had known the day she had provided that reference that she would live to regret it. One word and she could have crushed the doe-eyed brunette and ensured that they would never cross paths again. But, no. In a moment of weakness, borne obviously of extreme exhaustion, she had decided to be _nice._

'You did the right thing by her,' Roy said, never taking his eyes from the road.

Miranda rolled her eyes and scoffed, 'Yes, I’m well aware that Miss Sachs is still your favourite.'

Roy chuckled. 'That she is,' he admitted, without hesitation.

'Perhaps TMZ should have opted for Ohio's finest high calorie snacks as opposed to cash in their failed attempts at bribery,' she shot back, 'Should I give them a call?'

'I always preferred Perez Hilton myself,' Roy deadpanned.

Miranda shook her head with a smile as she moved to pick up her paper once more. 'Hmm, just don’t forget where your loyalties lie. I wouldn’t want to have to find a new driver,' she said lightly.

As they peeled off 5th and onto West 51st, Miranda felt the car begin to slow without her instruction.

'I had Kristen write the order down, in detail,' Roy said with as much nonchalance as he could apparently muster.

Miranda sighed, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

'If you insist,' she replied, waving her hand dismissively over the top of her paper.

As the town car came to a halt, and Roy stepped out, Miranda found herself unable to focus on the article in front of her. After reading the same paragraph three times she cast the paper aside again and glanced in the direction of the café.

The window seat was conspicuously empty.

She shook her head.

Of _course_ she wasn’t here. What a silly notion. The woman would have had to have been completely insane to attempt a repeat of last week. If she knew what was good for her, she would steer clear of this Starbucks until hell froze over.

 _It is a shame though_ , she thought with a light smirk.

She wouldn’t have minded an opportunity to knock the reporter down a few notches and see her squirm in discomfort. She knew Andrea Sachs’ weaknesses. She had spent close to a year making her jump through hoops to prove her self-worth. If Andrea had thought her little stunt with the coffee made her a truly worthy adversary, then she had another thing coming.

_She won’t manage that aga—_

She jumped slightly as the door opened, and Roy handed her a steaming hot latte.

'Centre of the sun,' he said quickly, before closing her door and climbing into the driver’s side.

 _Daydreaming_? _I must be tired_ , she thought as she lifted the cup to her lips and sighed in satisfaction.

'Thank you, Roy,' she said.

'My pleasure, Miranda.'

* * *

  
  
**March 2008**  
**(Months since Paris: 17)**  
  
'Yeah, I got it,' Andy said breathlessly into her phone as she walked briskly back to the Mirror offices. 'Practically had to tackle that bitch from the Times, but I got it.'

Andy pulled the phone away from her ear and laughed as a loud scream of excitement sounded down the line.

She quickly side-stepped a woman wielding a stroller like a weapon, and put her Blackberry back against her ear.

As Alice rattled off a list of possible angles, Andy found herself slowing to a stroll, her eyes drawn up to the Elias-Clark building.

She shook her head and smiled a little before turning away. “Hey Alice, you want a coffee? I have a sudden craving for Starbucks."

She stopped suddenly upon hearing the affirmative, the guy behind her cursing as he nearly bowled straight into her. She resisted the urge to flip him off as she listened for Alice’s order.

“Triple shot caramel Frappuccino? That’s _not_ coffee, you realize that don’t you?” she said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said in response to the protestations down the line. “I’ll be back in fifteen. Tell Greg I want to see him,” she said as she ended the call, sliding her Blackberry into her pocket before heading towards 51st.

When she entered the familiar café it was teeming, but a familiar face behind the counter waved her over.

“Good to see I still have privileges,” Andy chuckled.

“For the woman who rescued me from the Dragon? Anything,” Kelly smiled, as Andy observed her passing an appreciative glance over her fitted Top Shop blouse and tailored Zara blazer. It was High Street, not Madison Avenue these days, but a couple of adjustments in the right place helped make up for the lack of Burberry and Chanel in her wardrobe.

“Quad shot long black grande, right?” Kelly said.

“You have a good memory,” Andy smiled. “Oh! And a triple shot caramel Frappuccino too,” she added with a wince.

“Not yours, I take it?”

“No, that would be my colleague with oncoming diabetes.”

“You’re funny, Sachs,” Kelly smirked before moving off to make the two drinks.

When she returned and passed over the two cups, Andy raised an eyebrow.

“I never gave you my name.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kelly sassed back, unfazed. “But, a tall, beautiful brunette, associated with Miranda Priestly, who’s _friendly_? Apparently you’re one in a million. Why, you’re practically an urban legend in here.”

Andy felt a slight blush tint her cheeks at the compliment.

“Oh, speaking of Miranda Priestly,” Kelly continued, ignoring the impatient huff from the customers behind Andy, “She came back.”

“What? When?”

“Well, not _she_ herself, but her butler or driver or whatever. Same time the following week. Saw her in her car. Not the one of you I was hoping for if I’m honest,” she said, staring at Andy in earnest. “I was a little disappointed she managed to scare you off,” she continued with a wink. “She hasn’t been back since, just so you know.”

Before Andy even had a chance to respond, the guy behind her had finally had enough.

“If you two would mind saving the verbal dry humping for later, some of us need to get back to work!” he groused.

Kelly winced, and Andy grinned apologetically at the barista before moving away.

As she reached the door she heard a shout.

“Call me!”

Andy was about to turn back and tell her she didn’t have her number until she looked down and realized it was written right there. Shaking her head and chuckling, she threw a quick smile in the direction of the counter before exiting the café.

As she walked back to the Mirror, her mind was occupied with thoughts of one utterly unpredictable editor-in-chief.

_Starbucks._

_Huh._

* * *

 

It was Friday morning and Miranda was sitting at her desk staring at the first copy of the New York Mirror she had ever purchased.

There it was.

The proof.

Front page.

 _Andrea_ Sachs.

She felt a small smile quirk at the edge of her lips. It would appear that her faith in Andrea hadn’t been completely misplaced. Oh, how she would _love_ to hear the woman try to tell her _now_ that she hadn’t stepped on a single person to get where she was. Front page in less than two years? One did not move that swiftly in this world without leaving some casualties behind.

A fact Miranda was well and truly aware of.

There was a light knock at her open door.

_Speaking of casualties._

She raised her head and caught Nigel’s knowing smile as he caught sight of the paper on her desk.

“Did you come to gloat?” she asked, raising her brow.

“Would I ever do such a thing?” he said innocently as he swanned in, an identical copy of the Mirror clutched in his hand.

She raised her other brow to join its twin on the climb up her forehead.

“Okay, fair point,” he chuckled. “Actually I came here about this afternoon, I heard you were going into a meeting with the board and I wond—“

Miranda held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Meet me for dinner this evening, 8pm. Kristen will send you the details.”

He looked at her, slightly puzzled, and she simply waved him off.

“Tonight,” she said firmly.

“Alright, alright,” he said, “And, congratulations,” he continued, waving his copy of the Mirror. “You’re instincts are as sharp as ever.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe I was alone in that assessment,” she said, fixing him with a stare.

Nigel smiled in surprise at what she knew to be a rare compliment.

“So, tonight?” he asked.

She nodded in dismissal.

No, one did not move swiftly in this world without leaving some casualties behind. However, not all were beyond rectification.

She glanced down at the paper before her.

Everything felt strangely aligned.

* * *

  
At seven p.m. that evening, Elias-Clark was in an absolute uproar as Miranda Priestly grabbed her coat and bag and strolled from the building, her head held high and stifling a grin that was threatening to work its way onto her face.

Revenge truly was a dish best served cold.

She had waited the better part of a year and a half to repay Irv Ravitz for his little stunt in Paris. Her long game had paid off with poetic justice as the little gnat found himself replaced with someone _younger_ , and with more vision.

In seven months’ time Elias-Clark Publications’ flagship magazine would have a premier men’s publication standing alongside it, as rumour was abound that Condé Nast planned to close the doors on Men’s Vogue in October.

She planned to fill that small vacuum and crush Fielden’s pitiful circulation numbers.

Miranda believed she could do it better.

No, she believed _Nigel_ could do it better, and the Board had agreed.

As she slid into the back seat of her awaiting car and closed the door, she let a light chuckle slip past her lips.

Irv had been beside himself.

She recalled the look on the face of her now _former_ -CEO at the moment the pin dropped.

It had all been worth it when he finally lost his cool, calling her ‘fucking frigid _cunt_ ’, effectively securing the end of his reign.

“To the celebrations?” Roy asked over his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. The man didn’t miss a beat.

“To the celebrations,” she confirmed, sitting back in her seat.

* * *

  
“Full creative and editorial control?” Nigel asked.  
  
“Yes,” Miranda nodded, taking a sip of her wine.  
  
“Completely separate from Runway?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” she sighed, putting her glass down. “You can rest assured that I will have absolutely no say in anything that happens. Jason Archer also believes _Men’s Runway_ is a name guaranteed to bring about failure in light of what’s rumoured to be happening with Vogue,” she said, rolling her eyes.

She watched as Nigel’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. It was the first time she had seen him look truly happy in a number of years.

“Yes, you’re _free_. No need to look so pleased about it. I am sitting right here,” she said, shaking her head.

“Miranda I—“ he began.

She held up a hand to stop him.

“No, don’t thank me. This is not an apology, or a favour from me. You were the most qualified for the position, and the Board agreed that the promotion should be internal,” she finished.

He eyed her over the rim of his glass, brow raised doubtfully but still unable to wipe the grin from his face.

“Well, a toast then,” he said, raising his glass, “To internal promotions.”

“To internal promotions,” Miranda repeated as she touched her glass lightly against his own.

“And the end of Hobbits,” he added.

“Yes, the end of _Irv_ ,” Miranda mirrored.

“Thank you, Miranda,” Nigel said sincerely then.

She simply nodded.

“And now that you’re no longer my boss, I have to ask,” he said with a smirk, leaning closer and lowering his voice.

Miranda raised her brow in question as she raised her glass to her lips.

“Were you fucking Andrea Sachs?” he whispered.

She choked on her wine, the liquid spraying everywhere.

Nigel roared with laughter and she glared at him as she reached for her napkin.

As wine dripped from his face he continued to chortle.

_Unbelievable._

* * *

 

 

‘ _His wife Silda has proportedly told Mirror reporter Andrea Sachs that—‘_  
  
Miranda flicked off the TV as she took in the sight of two almost-13-year-olds tangled up together, a pile of limbs and blankets on the couch, dead to the world.

“Sorry Miranda, I meant to get them off to bed before you got home,” Cara said as she walked in with a pile of laundry. Soccer uniforms to be exact.

It had been around the time of the divorce that she had indulged the girls in a copy of that pile of rubbish movie about that Nickelodeon girl pretending to be her brother so she could play soccer. Suddenly ballet was out, soccer was in, and she could recite the movie from start to finish after repeat viewings.

Miranda had expected it to be a phase, but almost 18 months later the girls were still equally as dedicated, if not more so.

It hadn’t been exactly what she had envisioned when she first found out she was having twin girls, given the reputation of _football_ when she had been growing up. However, they were both happy and healthy so she had no complaints, even if Caroline persisted on walking like a line-backer.

“It’s fine, Cara,” she said quietly, waving off the girls’ nanny. “Leave that and go home. I’m sorry I’m so late this evening,” she apologized as she brushed a lock of hair out of Cassidy’s face.

“It’s no trouble, Miranda,” she replied. “I’ll see you on Monday,” she said before excusing herself.

Cassidy opened one eye and looked up at her mother.

“What time is it?” she said sleepily.

“It’s almost eleven Bobbsey,” she said gently. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

Cassidy nodded and nudged her sister. Grumbling, Caroline rubbed her eyes and got to her feet. The girls kissed their mother goodnight before heading off to their respective rooms.

Miranda grabbed the blankets from the sofa and set to folding them.

She couldn’t ignore the niggle in the back of her mind, however.

Setting down the perfectly folded linen, she turned around and flicked the TV back on, but the piece on Andrea and the Silda Spitzer quote had already passed.

 _Andrea_.

The spectre of that girl would not leave her alone.

She seemed to be everywhere today. Invading front pages, celebration dinners, and now her home.

She still wasn’t amused with Nigel’s little comment.

 _Regardless_ , she thought reaching for the Blackberry she had deposited on the table on her way in. She pulled up her contact list, scrolling down to the email she’d had Amy track down for her this morning.

She pondered her words before entering just one and hitting send.

_Acceptable._

* * *

 

It was now Saturday, and Andy found herself sitting in Starbucks at opening time on a whim.

She refused to acknowledge why she had chosen that particular Starbucks, or why she had chosen that particular time and that particular day.

She stared down at the paper to her left and smiled as she took in her byline on yesterday’s front page. The New York Times may have been the one to break the story in the end, but Silda had been pissed enough at them to give her the quotes for her side of it instead. Political scandal of the year, and Andy had landed the official line from 'The Good Wife.'

She stretched her hands above her head and smiled. It had been a long week, culminating in an absolutely insane previous day, but she was so wired she hadn’t been able to sleep. After all the celebrations, she had found herself wandering the streets of the City and simply soaking it all in. All of her hard work had paid off, and faster than she had ever expected.

It was a case of right place, right time and now she had something substantial to show for it. She cast her mind back to late 2005 when she and Nate had first made the move to New York. So much had happened since then, and a lot of it boiled down to one particular point in her life.

_Runway._

So here she was, banking on a long shot for no particular reason other than an insomnia and alcohol induced fantasy of lauding her victory over Miranda Priestly.

Or thanking her for pushing her so hard.

Probably a bit of both.

She cradled her chai latte in her hands and stared out the window.

As the flow of customers started to pick up in the café, she yawned and glanced down at her watch. It was almost six a.m. and there had been no sign of La Priestly.

Shaking her head she chuckled to herself, acknowledging her own insanity.

Of course there was no Miranda.

The whole thing had been purely coincidental in the first place, and happened almost six months ago to boot.

Andy picked up her cup and finished the last of her drink.

She was _desperately_ in need of sleep.

Rolling up her battered copy of the Mirror, she stood up from her table, picked up her bag and swept back out into reasonably peaceful streets of early morning Manhattan.

As she walked towards the subway she pulled out her Blackberry to check her emails.

She came to an abrupt halt as she spotted a name near the top of the list that she had never expected to see. It was time stamped 10:58 p.m. last night. She had been busy celebrating.

Andy hesitated, her heart rate spiking. Regardless of their history, she respected Miranda’s opinion when it came to her work. Miranda’s opinion probably meant more to her than her own editor’s.

Her finger hovered over the button.

“What the hell,” she muttered, opening it, her eyes half closed in a squint.

_Acceptable._

Andy opened her eyes wide and stared at the single word on the screen before she threw back her head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In case you missed it, the scandal referred to is the Eliot Spitzer prostitution scandal which was reported first by the New York Times in March 2008 (thank you Wikipedia!)  
> *Jay Fielden was the editor-in-chief of Men's Vogue until the publication folded in October 2008.  
> *The Nickelodean girl is Amanda Bynes and the movie is 'She's the Man' released in 2006, the same year as DWP.


	6. A Post-Acceptable World

**September 2008  
(Months since Paris: 23)**

 

Her two year anniversary at the Mirror was fast approaching, and Andy never _had_ gotten around to acknowledging Miranda’s email.

Well, it had never really invited a response in the first place, and after mulling over a variety of ultimately anaemic responses she decided some things were better left unsaid.

In fact, the only reason she was thinking about Miranda and her email at _all_ right now was because of the invitation currently clutched in her hand.

_Six._

_I’m pulling you out of exile._

_Congratulations on the promotion._

_Nigel._

_P.S. Yes, she will be there._

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath as she read over it for the fourth time.

“You right, Sachs?” Dave, the City editor asked as he strolled up to her desk.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” she replied, waving him off.

“Good,” he said, dumping a pile of notes on her desk. “This is politics,” he said by way of explanation before walking off.  
  
She stared at it and resisted the urge to scream.  
  
Her little jaunt into front page stardom _had_ , as Nigel acknowledged, resulted in a promotion. She was now officially a Senior Staff Reporter for the New York Mirror's Politics desk _._ She had broken all the rules, failed to defer to her senior colleagues as was expected, and Greg had seen fit to _promote_ her for it.

_You have balls Sachs. I like a woman with balls._

She hadn’t delved too deeply into that one, but the sentiment had been appreciated nonetheless.  
  
Looking back it _had_ been ballsy drafting up that article and going over the Politics and City editors' heads, directly to Greg.  
  
Well, ballsy and incredibly stupid.  
  
The fallout hadn't been pleasant. She had seen her chance and taken it, but that didn't mean work had been easy once her promotion was secured. If she thought the old guard were pissed about her little stunt, it was nothing compared to their ire when they found out one of their colleagues had been bumped to make way for ‘new blood’ as Greg had not-so-delicately put it.

At not-quite-26, Andy was by far the youngest amongst the staff reporters. There was little doubt in her mind that she was partially an experiment aimed at drawing a younger readership, but that didn’t mean the old boys on the Crime and City desks were prepared to give her a break. They felt like she hadn’t done her duty in the trenches, and as such, decided to bring the trenches to her.  
  
She had managed to keep up so far, and she was slowly beginning to earn their respect. Not that they would ever admit it.  
  
Andy sighed as she glanced between the notes and the invitation.

To be honest, she would take whatever shit storm Dave had just dumped on her desk over a Runway party any day. Nigel might have thought he was doing her a favour, but attending a party with all those she had left behind in Paris sounded more stressful than going toe-to-toe with the Governor in a live press conference. She hadn't seen them all in two years. It felt odd to be popping back into that world, if only for a night.  
  
Before she could dig too deeply into her Runway issues, Alice popped up waving a gilded envelope.

“Guess who’s going to a party,” she gloated.

Andy rolled her eyes.  
  
Alice’s entire life revolved around attending events. A reporter for the Life & Style section, the two of them had hit it off early in the game when on her very first day, Alice had strolled up to her desk, opening with, ‘She’s a bitch isn’t she? Tell me she’s an absolute demon.'  
  
It wasn't hard to guess to whom she was referring, and when she had refused to say a single bad word against Miranda Priestly, Alice had decided to stick to her like glue until she had her dirt.  
  
She was still waiting.

Andy reached across her desk and grabbed her matching envelope, holding it up for assessment.

“Oh my God, this is going to be fun. When was the last time you saw her?” Alice began, immediately.

Andy groaned, knowing exactly which _her_ Alice was referring to.

“I don’t know, a year ago? It was around the time I was doing some digging on the tenancy disputes piece. Ran into her at Starbucks.”

“This just keeps getting better,” Alice grinned.

Andy put her head in her hands.

“How did you get an invite anyway? I thought Miranda Priestly hated you,” Alice continued.

“I used to be—well I _am_ —friends with Nigel. I guess,” she said lamely.

 _Friends_ , she thought to herself.  
  
After her grand departure she hadn’t heard from anyone at Runway. Not even Nigel.

She had been a little hurt by it in the beginning, but she soon realized that an assistant of less than a year was a blip in the grand scheme of a publication, and having lost track of the multiple lovely, yet ultimately forgettable temps and interns that passed through the halls of the Mirror, she eventually understood.

Not to mention, she had never bothered to try and contact him either.

“Well that works out well for me, you can get me an exclusive with the editor-in-chief of L'Homme _._ ”

_L'Homme._

Elias-Clark’s newest publication, and Nigel was at the helm. The magazine would be launching in the midst of a recession, on the heels of Paris Fashion Week for the Spring/Summer 2009 collections, and coinciding with the release of the final edition of Men’s Vogue.

It was a risky move that had Miranda Priestly painted all over it. Elias-Clark had waited for the day that Condé Nast confirmed that October would be their last issue before dropping the bombshell and riding on the publicity coattails of Anna Wintour and Jay Fielden.

The release of an exclusive online documentary, giving viewers a behind the scenes view of the inner workings of Runway and the processes behind the launch of the new magazine had seen online subscriptions double and rumour had it that if L'Homme managed an initial circulation of over 1 million, Miranda Priestly would likely be named Time Magazine’s most influential person of 2008.

Andy couldn’t help but smile to herself. Almost two years ago, the board of Elias-Clark had thought Miranda Priestly was past her due by date.

Boy, had they been wrong, she mused.

Fingers clicked in front of her face, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Earth to Andy,” Alice said.

“Oh, what? Yeah, sorry. Of course I will.”

“Good,” Alice replied with smile. “Now, what the fuck are we going to wear?”

* * *

  
  
**October 2008**  
**(Months since Paris: 24)**  
  
Andy had put the upcoming party to the back of her mind as the vote for the extension of the New York mayoral term limit rapidly approached. She was busy chasing around swing voters to get a good predication on which way it would go.

It was due to go to the vote on October 23, and things were only going to get busier. It was a controversial issue and was causing more than a few ripples.

As Andy sat on her sofa, trawling through polling data, she heard the name Alessandra Facchinetti mentioned in the background. Her head shot up and she reached for the remote. She had met Alessandra on one of her trips to New York, back when she was still working for Gucci under Tom Ford. She was amazingly passionate, and Andy had immediately understood why Miranda was always happy to take her calls.

As she watched the story unfold, she felt herself bristle in anger.

_'Less than 24 hours after the House’s Paris show, and Facchinetti has been tossed to the curb. The official line from House Valentino is a ‘misaligned vision with the company.’ No word on her replacement just yet, but we’ll be back with more from Paris fashion week in a moment.‘_

Alessandra had moved on to take over as creative director at Valentino only last year. She couldn’t believe the sheer temerity of these people.

On a side note, she hadn’t realised they were so far into fashion week for the Valentino show to have already passed. She pulled up her schedule and winced.  
  
_Fuck._

It was October 6 already. She _knew_ it was October 6, but she had been too busy focusing on the timeline between now at the vote that she had completely forgotten about Nigel’s launch. The Runway and L'Homme teams would be finishing up in Paris and heading back to finalise the issue before the duel launch on October 16.

God, she officially had less than 10 days to find a dress.

 _This ought to be interesting_ , she thought to herself.

 _‘Miranda Priestly—_ the host mentioned, causing Andy’s head to shoot up— _was spotted this evening in close cohorts with her former creative director-cum-editor-in-chief of L'Homme, Nigel Kipling.’_

Her TV was mocking her. She was sure of it.

_‘The new men’s magazine will launch officially on October 16, but the early launch of the online edition has seen anticipation for the publication rise exponentially.’_

Andy watched as a clip of Nigel and Miranda flashed across the screen. The snowy haired women looked impervious as always. She strolled through the sea of cameras with Nigel by her side, acting for all the world like the paparazzi didn’t exist.

Andy chuckled, remembering a very distinct Miranda lecture about not engaging with the media.

She brushed off the small pang of regret that always seemed to surface around the time of the shows. A small part of her still wanted to be there, to be part of the action.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Andy muttered to herself, before pulling up Firefox and Googling L'Homme’s new website.

As she trawled through the site, she smiled warmly. It was fresh, innovative; high-fashion meets recession trends, with a push towards the young professional male without discounting the wealthy and established. It was reality meets fantasy, and it was so beautifully _Nigel._

She couldn’t help but think that maybe, in spite of everything, it had all worked out for the best in the end.

As she glanced up and watched another clip of Miranda sitting in the front row of the Celine show, she titled her head. The woman was a vision as always, her face clinical and detached as she assessed the designs filing past. She watched as Phoebe Philo leant to whisper something in her ear, causing a slight quirk of the lips.

Andy smiled.

Maybe a return to Miranda’s realm wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

 

It was Friday afternoon and frankly, Miranda had had enough. They had been on the run since landing back in New York on Sunday evening and she felt like someone had pinned her down and poured a bucket of sand into each of her eyes.

All she wanted to do was go home, run a long hot bath, and then relax with her girls.

“Amy, call my car,” she said tiredly as she began packing up her things.

“Do you need anything before you go?” the second assistant asked, her phone already to her ear.

“No, you can leave as well,” she said, as she got up from her desk, biting back a wince as she registered the tension in her neck and shoulders.

“Lucas had to reschedule his week, I booked you in for tomorrow,” Amy said as she ended her call with Roy.

Miranda raised her eyebrow but didn’t comment. She knew for a fact she had no massage scheduled tomorrow seeing as she had just checked her schedule all of five minutes ago.

The girl winced slightly, a light blush reaching her cheeks when she realised she had been caught out.

Amy was good assistant, but she was about as subtle as a flying brick.

As Miranda reached for the coat the girl was holding out, she caught her eye.

“Thank you, Amy.”

The young brunette beamed in response. The smiling lighting up her entire face.

Yes, very _subtle._

Miranda simply nodded before sliding on her sunglasses and heading towards the elevator.

As she slid into the backseat of the town car she sighed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

Roy said nothing, and she appreciated his perceptiveness, however she soon became aware that they weren’t moving very quickly.

Opening one eye, she glanced out the window. Traffic was backed up for miles.

_Brilliant._

“Sorry, Miranda. I’ll get us out of here as soon as I can.”

“Hardly your fault,” she said in an exasperated tone.

As took in the scene outside, her eyes happened upon something that made her sit up.

She watched as Andrea Sachs strolled down the street with a woman she recognized. She trawled through her memories before she recalled the face from the counter at Starbucks a year or so ago.

She shook her head and smirked. Trust Andrea Sachs to be making friends with the help. The woman would befriend a pigeon if she had the opportunity. Apparently the Mirror’s bullpen hadn’t destroyed that bleeding heart after all, a fact Miranda was surprised to find she was pleased about.

As her eyes followed the two women, she noted the barista was still sporting her Starbucks uniform. Perhaps Andrea could instill a little ambition in that one. They abruptly stopped and Andrea titled her head in apology as she reached into her back pocket for her phone. Miranda watched as the coffee girl put her hands in her pockets and shrugged it off, although her irritation was plainly clear in her stance.

_That’s an odd response for a frie—_

Her thoughts ground to a halt, her back suddenly rigid.

She watched closely, with fresh eyes as Andrea finished her call and put her phone back in her pocket, wincing before she stepped forward and began apologising. Miranda recognized the scene well, she may as well have invented it. She watched as the barista took a deep breath, accepting the apology graciously as Andrea smiled in relief before kissing the woman gently on the lips. 

Miranda’s eyes snapped forward, away from the scene.

She felt like she had just intruded on something private.

Her hands clenched at her sides, and she stared out the front window, her mind registering shock.

_First a chef, and now a **barista.**_

A very _female_ barista her mind helpfully supplied.

God, not to mention _Christian Thompson._

What was it with this woman? Was she unaware of her own worth? That barista of hers was far too old to be working at Starbucks. Starbucks was a job for college students. What on Earth was Andrea thinking? She could have anyone she pleased. She was intelligent, beau—

Miranda stopped herself there, her eyes widening slightly in shock.

Roy glanced over his shoulder, apparently oblivious to what she had witnessed.

“We’re clear,” he said, and Miranda simply nodded in response.

He eyed her for a second, before turning his eyes back to the road.

As the car finally started moving again, Miranda sighed in relief, leaning back and forcing herself to relax. She flexed her hands and shook them out.

When they arrived at the townhouse she exited the vehicle quickly without as much as a farewell to Roy. She had a sudden, visceral urge to be alone without any prying eyes.

She closed the door firmly and went straight to her study, closing that door behind her also.

She paced the length of the room, her heels drumming a staccato pattern on the hardwood.

She was tired, that was all.

 _Not it_.

She rolled her eyes at herself.

It was clearly obvious that anytime she had felt thrown off in the past two years, there was only one common factor.

_Her._

When the woman had left the first time, things had been murky. With the divorce and the attempted takeover, she had been too distracted to really think about _why_ she had been so uncharacteristically angry about the sudden departure. I mean, she was an _assistant._ She was replicable. A million girls wanted her job.

It had had nothing to do with _André_ _a._

It had just been the exceptionally bad timing, surely. Not to mention the personal slight against her character. Her pride had been wounded. She had had _plenty_ of reasons to be furious that week.

_And now?_

She took a deep breath and began working past the tiredness to truly take stock of herself.

There was a mildly tight feeling in her chest.

It was unpleasant, but not altogether unfamiliar.

It felt suspiciously close to a feeling she had twelve years ago when she had been handed pictures of her first husband, the girls’ father, balls-deep in his secretary only a few months after the twins had been born.

Miranda stopped in her tracks and brought a hand to her mouth to cover the horrified expression on her face.

My God, she was _jealous._

 _You silly old fool_ , she thought.

She hadn’t been paying attention.  
  
It had been so long since she had even entertained the thought of stepping outside the boundaries of what had been deemed _respectable_ for her image and the magazine, that she hadn’t recognized Andrea for what she was.

 _Dangerous_ , Miranda thought.

Very, _very_ dangerous if her current state was anything to judge by.

Well, this wouldn’t do.

No, this wouldn’t do at _all._

She took a deep breath forced her mind to think clearly and rationally.

The woman was more than half her age for starters, and an ex-employee; and that didn’t even _begin_ to cover what made her completely unsuitable for…for what?  
  
For _nothing_ , she reminded herself sharply.  
  
There would be no more thinking of Andrea Elizabeth Sachs, professionally or otherwise. The girl was so far outside her radar she wouldn’t even need to worry about crossing paths with her for any extended amount of time.

Today was simply a blip. Just as Starbucks had been a blip.

Blips could be handled.

Now that she was aware of it, it was unlikely to creep up on her again.

She admonished herself for her rare state of incognizance, before taking a deep breath and smiling slightly at her own idiotic behaviour.

 _Well, that’s that_ , she thought to herself before exiting the study to join the girls for dinner.


	7. Two Women, One Launch

The few short days before the L'Homme launch passed by as uneventfully as the run up to a magazine launch could. The Board were nervous about an untested editor-in-chief at the helm, and Miranda had spent more time placating _them_ than concerning herself with Nigel’s affairs.

He was capable. He didn’t need her help.

If he did, he knew he could approach her at any time, day or night.

She also knew he wouldn’t.

She remembered the run up to the launch of her first issue of Runway after taking over the post. It was still one of the most terrifying and exhilarating experiences of her life. She had no interest in interfering in Nigel’s moment of glory.

Not to mention she had her own fires to fight she thought, rolling her eyes. How these people still managed to make so many mistakes was beyond her. She truly was surrounded by complete and utter incompetence.

Well, not _completely._

“Kristen,” she called.

“Yes, Miranda?” the girl responded in record time. Miranda was yet to discern how the girl managed to vacate her desk and be at her doorway so quickly.

“Is my dress ready for tomorrow evening, and have those Zanotti’s I requested arrived yet?”

“Yes Miranda, hair and make-up will arrive at six, and Roy will pick you up six forty-five. Did you want a fitting scheduled for today?”

“No, no. Unless I’ve gained ten pounds in the last week that I’m unaware of, it should be fine.”

To her credit, Kristen kept a straight face as she replied, “No, it doesn’t appear so Miranda. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all,” she said as the girl returned to her desk.

She didn’t know what she would do without that girl.

Who needed an _Andrea_ when you had a _Kristen,_ she thought smugly.

* * *

 

October 15 was upon her.

Tonight she would drink with the staff of L'Homme, all of whom would celebrate the completion of the first issue this evening, knowing that it was all out of their hands. The magazine would hit the stands at midnight and it would simply be a case of come what may.

Andy had great faith in Nigel. If the website was anything to go by, the magazine would surely be of a high quality. She could only hope that they managed to access the target market that Vogue had failed to secure.

As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she turned slightly to the left to observe her profile.

_Passable._

It was lucky she hadn’t been tied to the desk this month, because the cut of the dress wasn’t allowing for Spanx.

She had opted for a long flowing, black-orchid halter gown from Monique Lhuillier’s Ready-To-Wear Spring Collection 2008. She had fallen in love with Lhuillier’s designs when she worked for Miranda. Although it was out of season, it was the most she could afford, and had still set her back the cost of a return flight to London. She knew it was ridiculous to spend so much on a dress, but she had to admit that being back in designer clothing was gratifying.

The signature golden hued brass belt pulled it all together, and the cut of the dress accentuated her lightly muscled arms and shoulders, whilst keeping her best assets under wraps. Well, from the _front_ anyway. The dress was completely backless, and dipped so low that she had been forced to spend three hours finding the perfect set of underwear to go with it.

She felt a little exposed, but she liked the illusion of strength the dress gave her. She felt like a Greek Goddess in this gown. It may not have been haute couture, but it was a launch party not the Oscars.

She hoped Nigel would be proud that she had managed to retain _some_ of the lessons he had taught her during her tenure at Runway.

Not to mention, _Miranda._

Last time the snowy-haired editor had seen her she had been looking less than her best. She recalled the pursed lips like it was yesterday, and the flicker of disappointment. She may have managed to get the last word in, but Miranda had still managed to make her feel very small.

A part of her still craved Miranda’s approval and recognition.

Andy shook her head in admonishment.

It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. She didn’t require validation from the volatile editor of a fashion magazine.

Not to mention there would be close to 300 people there. Knowing Miranda’s reputation for brief appearances, it would be highly unlikely she would even _see_ her, let alone have the time to critique her on her choice of designer for the evening.

She brushed down the front of her dress once more before nodding in approval.

There was a brusque knock on the door of the guest bedroom she was occupying, before Alice blew into the room and gawked at Andy.

“Honey, you look like fucking-Athena!” she exclaimed, before grabbing Andy’s purse and arm and proceeding to pull her towards the door.

“Come on, grab your heels, we’re going to be late!”

* * *

 

Alice had left Andy fairly early on.

“Some of us here are to _work_ ,” the straight talking red-head had sassed before swanning off.

 _Speaking of red-heads_ , Andy thought as her eyes scanned the crowd. She had opted to mingle in the background while sticking close to the bar. She had run into a few familiar faces and was surprised by the number of genuine congratulations she had received on her front page from March. She didn’t realize anyone at Runway read the Mirror, let alone remembered her name.

As her eyes trailed over the venue, she soaked it all in from a safe emotional distance. She felt strangely comfortable back amongst the glitz and the glamour again. The party was being held on a rooftop space in Midtown with glorious views of the Manhattan skyline. Gas fuelled braziers lined the edges, blanketing the guests in a comfortable warmth and warding off the cool October weather.

Her eyes made contact with a familiar red-head clad in yet another Vivian Westwood. The flash of recognition sparked in Emily’s eyes and she blazed towards Andy, two glasses of champagne balanced perfectly in one hand.

“As I live and breathe!” Emily said sarcastically as she thrust one of the glasses at Andy and then clinked them together. “Someone said you were here, but I had to see for myself,” continued before knocking back her glass.

Andy was suddenly highly aware of the similarities between her former co-worker and her current one, minus the accent. Apparently there had been a reason she had attached herself to Alice when she started at the Mirror.

“Bad day at the office, Em?” Andy chuckled as her former co-worker flagged down a passing waiter and grabbed another glass.

“When is it not?” she said before looking at the still full glass in Andy’s hand. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking more. If _she_ sees you here she’s going to flay you alive,” Emily stated matter-of-factly. “Thank you for that, by the way,” she continued. “Bloody unbearable doesn’t even come _close_ to describing the mood after you decided piss off right in the middle of bloody fashion week!”

Andy winced a little, realizing what she had probably saddled Emily with. She had never really apologized, other than leaving her a token pile of clothes from Paris.

“Well, you must have done something right in my absence, I hear you’re the new Nigel,” Andy sassed back, although admittedly with a hint of apology in her tone.

“The new Nigel’s 2I/C, but close enough. And to think I actually thought my life would get _easier_ after the promotion,” Emily sighed in exhaustion.

Andy chuckled and hummed in agreement, ignoring the fatigue in her bones and wondering whether the bar served Vodka Redbull.

“How _did_ you survive Andrea Sachs?” Emily asked seriously then, curiosity obviously getting the better of her. “I thought you would have been back in Kansas writing about corn or something once Miranda was through with you.”

“Ohio,” Andy corrected, rolling her eyes.

“But in all seriousness Andrea, how?” Emily said, more than a little intrigued.

A familiar hush settled over the party, and Andy could practically feel _her_ presence before she even entered the arena.

“I honestly have no idea,” Andy whispered as they both turned and watched the Queen herself glide into the venue and take her place at the dais.

Miranda was a vision in a red vintage Valentino. The gown clung in all the right places and Andy was being quickly reminded that her former boss was in-fact, a _very_ attractive woman.

Andy was once again entranced by the magic that was La Priestly as she spoke in those soft dulcet tones, eliciting a collective chuckle when she introduced Nigel with wry emphasis on the words “my _long_ _suffering_ colleague.”

She watched as Miranda gave the man what appeared to be a genuine embrace, and Emily sniffed beside her.

Andy glanced at her out the corner of her eye and smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Emily cursed, even as she titled her head back and dabbed gently under her eyes.

Andy grinned and gave her a pat on the shoulder before watching Nigel take his place in front of the microphone. The contrast between this introduction and the one she had witnessed two years ago was glaring.

As applause erupted in the room, Andy grinned before turning her head slightly to track Miranda’s withdrawal from the spotlight. The snowy haired editor inclined her head slightly towards Nigel before glancing up and trailing her eyes indifferently across the crowd.

As Nigel’s speech began, Andy found her gaze locked with her former employer, the older woman as observant as ever.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a bit late to duck and cover now.

Andy watched the face in question quirk a questioning brow. The action would have been barely perceptible to most people, but she had spent almost a year in close quarters with Miranda. She knew every expression on that woman’s face.

She smiled apologetically and shrugged her shoulders.

This wasn’t her realm any longer. She was a guest here, and she wasn’t about to start the evening by pissing off the Empress.

Miranda did nothing in response, simply pulling her gaze from Andy as if she were little more than a passing irritation. Something not worth bothering with.

Andy felt herself bristle.

 _Two could play that game_ , she thought.

* * *

  
As Nigel’s speech concluded, Miranda reclaimed her place at the dais.

“To L'Homme, and my dear friend Nigel,” she said simply, raising her glass in a toast.

 As the room echoed her sentiments and cheered, she kept her eyes firmly averted from where she knew Andrea was standing.

_Unbelievable._

It was as though the world had deigned to punish her, and then laugh in her face. She hadn’t seen a glimpse of the woman for a year, and now twice in less than a week? It was some sort of cosmic joke, it _had_ to be.

As Nigel moved to slipped past her, she reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him up short. She moved in for what appeared to be an embrace and placed her lips next to his ear. “What reason, pray tell, does a political correspondent have to be at the launch of a _fashion_ magazine?” she hissed quietly. 

Nigel turned his head slightly.

“And why, pray tell, does the head of the fashion empire _care_?” he whispered back.

As they pulled apart, they smiled at each other sweetly.

“Stay out of my sandbox,” Miranda said in warning, her voice barely above a whisper, the smile never leaving her lips.

“Maybe you should play in it more often,” Nigel shot back, before squeezing her arms gently and extricating himself with a wink.

Miranda fought the urge to growl.

Since his promotion, Nigel had taken it upon himself to remove the filter between his brain and his mouth in her presence.

Some might call it refreshing.

She called it _annoying_.

As soon as Nigel had vacated her side, the head of advertising for Gaultier had taken his place and she had little time to dwell on her former protégé and his little schemes. As she accepted the proffered glass of wine with a practiced smile, she knew now was as good a time as any to ensure there was absolutely zero doubt that Nigel had the full force of her reputation supporting him and the new publication.

 _Not that he deserved it at this moment_ , she thought.

* * *

  
Andy stuck next to her former comrade-in-arms, and found that now they no longer worked together, Emily’s biting wit and sarcasm was actually hilarious. She was enjoying her company, and with Miranda safely secured behind a wall of advertisers, Andy allowed herself to relax.

Not that she _cared_ about Miranda's opinion on her presence here. Instead of worrying about her capricious ex-employer, Andy turned her attention to catching up on the last two years of in-house gossip, with Serena all too happy to add helpful additions about Emily to the stories. Emily glared at her Brazilian friend after a particularly accurate demonstration of one of Englishwoman’s trademark meltdowns had Andy snorting in fits of laughter.

Alice joined them not long after.

“I need a drink,” she said as she grabbed the wine glass from Andy’s hand and introduced herself to the two other women.

As Alice and Emily argued over someone’s dress, Serena sidled up next to her.

“You look good,” she said, nodding approvingly at Andy’s dress. “I can’t wear Lhuillier, a little too safe,” the Brazilian noted. “But, her designs were made for women like you, very _clássico_.”

Andy felt herself blush a little at the compliment.

“Oh stop flirting Serena,” Emily interrupted, “she’s seeing someone.”

“Ah,” Serena sighed, “The chef?”  
  
Emily snorted, “No, no. A _barista_ this time!”  
  
Andy rolled her eyes.

“Well, he is a lucky man,” Serena responded.

“Woman,” Alice added helpfully, and Andy felt her eyes tilt skyward again as she prayed for some peace and quiet.

Serena smiled broadly, “Well, all is not lost then,” she said then, lifting her glass to her lips with a twinkle in her eye.

“Perhaps not,” Andy said cheekily, titling her glass in Serena’s direction before taking a sip.

“Andrea!” Emily protested indignantly before they all broke into laughter.

* * *

Miranda found herself distracted by the sound of the _very_ vocal tones of her _very_ British ex-assistant.

A loudly proclaimed “Andrea!” had managed to cut through the noise of the party, causing her head to whip up and find the source.

She spotted the group of women lingering near the corner of the bar, and found her eyes drawn to one in particular. It was the expanse of skin that had caught her off guard. She knew the collection, and the dress. What she hadn’t expected was the effect on the brunette in question. It exposed a well-defined back, which flexed as the woman laughed.

Miranda’s eyes tracked down of their own volition, to where the dress began to hold form once again, just above the swell of her—

She snapped her eyes back up.

_I need some air._

Miranda excused herself from the discussion with a representative from Ralph Lauren, ignoring Nigel’s questioning look. He was perfectly capable of managing them alone.

Swiping another glass of wine off a passing tray, she did a short calculation in her head as she approached the railing of the venue. She had had two small glasses of red and a little champagne. She was still well within her limits.

As she reached the edge of the venue she stood and stared out at the Manhattan skyline. Taking a sip from her glass, she refused to acknowledge the presence that sidled up next to her.

“What’s going on?” Nigel asked directly.

“I haven’t the slightest idea to what you’re referring to,” she sniffed. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s _my_ party. I can do what I want; and there are plenty of barely legal models to keep those boys entertained.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. _Neanderthals._

“Now," Nigel continued, "If I was to hedge a guess, I would say you were a little rattled about the presence of a certain ex-assistant this evening. It’s been two years Miranda, don’t you think it’s time to give Six a break?”

She stood rigidly, back to the party, refusing to face her former creative director. She glanced down, and noticing the vice grip on her wine glass she forced herself to relax.

“I preferred you better when I could threaten you with a demotion,” she said smoothly, taking another sip.

Nigel turned his back on the skyline and leant back against the railing. She could feel his eyes on her, and she turned her head to meet his gaze. “Go ahead, say what you have to say," she ordered. 

“Oh, I was just going to mention that Miss Sachs cleans up quite well. Lhuillier? Excellent choice in my opinion, and that back? _Well_ ," he said, holding a hand over his heart as he enacted an Oscars worthy swoon. 

Miranda knew exactly what he was trying to do, and she ignored him. She had had plenty of people attempt to rile her into admission over the years, he was hardly the first.

"Yes, it's admirable she hasn't forgotten _everything_ you so painstakingly taught her. Or should I say, _miracle._ "

Nigel rolled his eyes. "Fine, keep it to yourself if you must, but just so you know? Your poker face is _slipping_ Miranda Priestly," he said as he finished the last of his scotch and pushed off from the railing.

Miranda scoffed at the thought and turned away from the skyline. Regardless of his baseless accusations, Nigel had a point. Any more time alone would draw questions, so she moved to follow him.

He held his arm out to her, and his towering height standing in front of her could be the only explanation for the voice that suddenly rang out.   
  
"God, _there_ you are!" Emily said loudly, and Miranda was quite sure the exclamation wasn't directed at her.

Nigel turned and Miranda stepped with him, watching in satisfaction as Emily bit back the 'fuck' that was clearly on the tip of her tongue.

“Miranda, I-I’m sorry to disturb you, I didn’t realize—“

“Please _do_ relax, Emily,” she said offhandedly, her eyes moving instead to the left of the assistant creative director to where Andrea stood, doing admirably well at maintaining a neutral expression. 

"Miranda," Andrea said, nodding her head gently in acknowledgement. 

"Andrea," Miranda replied, mirroring the gesture and not taking her eyes off the reporter.

Andrea watched her for a moment before she turned to Nigel, her face relaxing slightly. "Congratulations, Nigel," she said, a familiar broad smile breaking out on her face.

"Thank you for coming, Six" he said, reaching forward to embrace the woman.

"Still a four, thank you very much," Andrea growled.

"Yes, I see that," Nigel said as he took a step back to assess her. "You look stunning this evening, my dear."

Miranda watched as Andrea's eyes flickered towards her own momentarily before graciously accepting the compliment with a simple, "Why thank you, Nigel."

He waved it off with a smile. "Let's no leave it so long next time, shall we?" he said, and without waiting for a response he turned to Emily. "Emily, dear, I have someone I'd like you to meet," he said swiftly, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her back in the direction of the bar, “I’m sure you two have plenty to discuss,” he shot back over his shoulder in her and Andrea's direction. 

Miranda glared at him.

“Oh, and Miranda?” he said as he paused with a smirk firmly planted on his lips. “Try not to leave any bloodstains on the hardwood.”

She was going to kill him. Of that she was quite certain.

He swanned off, pushing Emily ahead of him even as she mouthed an obvious apology in Andrea's direction.

Miranda turned to face Andrea.

The woman stared back at her straightened her back in defiance.

 _Let’s see how long that lasts_ , she thought.

* * *

  
Andy was going to murder Nigel.

She stood there, face to face with Miranda and knew she was going to have to face her demons or risk giving Miranda the satisfaction of watching her bolt out of the venue with her tail between her legs. She squared her shoulders and prepared for the first blow.

“From Chanel to _Lhuillier_ , Andrea? Still playing it safe I see,” Miranda noted, dragging her eyes over the woman’s dress from top to bottom.

 _Predictable_ , she thought and chuckled, although she noted that Miranda hadn't wholly disapproved of her choice.

“The Valentino is beautiful Miranda, although you seem to have lost something,” she shot back, trailing off and titling her head to look behind the editor. “I could have _sworn_ I saw a matching pitchfork earlier.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, but looked surprisingly unfazed. “My, my, aren’t we feeling _bold_ this evening?”

“Dutch courage?” Andy queried as she looked at the empty glass in her hand

“Evidently,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes and turning away from Andy to look out over the city. 

Andy watched as she finished the glass of wine in her hand. Her clutch began vibrating under her arm and she ignored it, along with her nerves as she moved to stand next to Miranda, and signaled a waiter.

Andy reached to take Miranda's empty glass from her hand and replaced it with a full one. "It's the Pinot Noir," she said absently.

"Presumptuous aren't you?"

"Habit," Andy replied.

"Have you been monitoring my drinks from across the room also?"

"No, I was more concerned with my own," Andy bit back, lifting the glass of champagne in her hand to her lips.

"Has the newsroom turned you into an alcoholic as well? How _cliche_."

Andy laughed. "The _Mirror_ _?_ Oh no, Miranda, _this_ ," she said, indicating to her glass, " _This_ was all _Runway_."

"And yet here you stand, back for more," Miranda said with a hint of amusement. 

"Well what can I say? I'm a sucker for punishment. And my old boss? Well, she was always the best at doling out _punishment_."

Oh God, had her voice just lowered an octave? No surely she hadn’t just—

Miranda laughed. It wasn’t a fake laugh either, it was a genuine laugh that took Andy completely off guard. She had heard it on rare occasions, but never once was it directed at her.

“Exactly how much _have_ you had to drink this evening, Andrea?”

“You know what, I don’t actually recall," Andy smirked, turning away from the skyline to look at the woman standing next to her, "I blame the British."

Miranda turned her head, and Andy saw something she had only seen once or twice before. There was mirth in Miranda's face, and with it, she looked...human.

"You should know better than to drink with Emily, Andrea," Miranda admonished with a small smile before she raised her glass and took a sip.

Andy raised her glass in acknowledgement, the back of her mind registering how surprisingly easy it had been to slip back into a comfortable rhythm with Miranda.

Not to mention, she was _enjoying_ their to-and-fro more than she was willing to admit.

 _I must be drunk_.

The clutch under her arm began to vibrate again, and Miranda's eyes shot down to it.

“Answer your phone Andrea,” Miranda said sharply. 

“I—uh—what?” Andy replied dumbly, taken off guard by the sudden change of tone.

“Your _phone_ ,” Miranda repeated, rolling her eyes.

Well, the woman always did hate an unanswered phone.

Andy pulled her clutch from under her arm with her free hand, and then looked around for somewhere to put her drink.

The editor sighed and grabbed the glass, and Andy nodded her thanks as she rummaged around for the offending article.

She pulled it out and answered it before checking the ID.

“Yes?” she demanded as she stared at Miranda, standing there holding a drink in each hand.

This was not going at _all_ how she expected.

“Kelly?” she asked, struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice as she looked down at her watch and noted that it had barely gone ten.

She looked at Miranda apologetically before turning away slightly and lowering her voice. “I told you I was meeting old work colleagues tonight.”

Andy’s eyes flicked to Miranda, her impatience with her partner steadily increasing by the second. Kelly had interrupted something Andy was quickly realizing she found _important._

“Well, I can’t leave right now and I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said and ended the call abruptly.

She barely had time to put her phone back in her clutch before her drink was placed back in her hand with a brusqueness not entirely unexpected, given who she was dealing with.

She watched as Miranda's walls built back up in front of her eyes, and felt a sense of great disappointment wash over her.

“I’m—“ Andy began.

Miranda waved the attempted apology off before turning to signal a waiter and placing her almost full glass down. “Well, as moderately entertaining as this has been Andrea, I really should be going," she said as she gathered herself and moved to leave. 

Andy resisted the urge to reach out and stop her. She was quite certain that would not be tolerated.

“Miranda?” she called gently instead.

Miranda turned back, her brow quirked in question.

“It was good to see you,” Andy said sincerely.

Miranda watched her for a moment before she simply nodded and continued her exit.

Andy stood there, a little dumbstruck, her drink and clutch hanging limply from each hand as she watched the retreating form of Miranda Priestly gliding through the venue.

Pulling her wits together, she took a sip of her wine and pondered what the _fuck_ had happened in the last ten minutes, and why she felt strangely bereft at the sudden departure of her infuriatingly difficult ex-boss.


	8. Unexpected Rescues

**November 2008  
(Months since Paris: 25)**

Winter had started to roll in, and not only was it beginning to get colder outside, Andy’s bed had also cooled considerably in the last week.

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, although it seemed to feel a lot like her own at this moment in time.

She was busy, and focused on her career. Kelly, on the other hand, was not.

They had been progressing to this point for a while. The barista had begun requesting that she make more time, and she simply didn’t have any more to give. They had parted on pretty good terms, all things considering.

However, Andy couldn’t help feeling it was like Nate all over again, and she sighed as she looked out the window.

She and Kelly hadn’t even made it a year.

October had been the nail in the coffin if she was being honest. The vote for the mayoral term extension had sucked up all of her spare time. She had also been livid that the woman had called her multiple times at the L'Homme launch, and the barista, in return, couldn’t understand why on Earth she would be so angry about a phone call that had lasted all of two minutes.

To be honest, Andy couldn’t explain it herself.

Well, actually, that was a lie.

She could.

_Miranda._

Her mind had been plagued with thoughts of Runway's demonic leader ever since she had watched her swan away in red Valentino at the launch.She had been playing the conversation over and over in her head, trying to discern exactly what about that night had left her so unsettled. 

It was _pleasant._

And that was the problem.

She had spent the last two years viewing Miranda Priestly as an adversary. A respected adversary, but an adversary nonetheless; and now she was, what?

_I have no idea._

She had felt a strange level of comfort in the older woman’s presence, and she had _liked_ it.

Andy shook her head. It was _ridiculous._ What were they going to do? Braid each other’s hair and talk about their failed relationships?

Because that was the real rub right now.

She was beginning to feel like maybe she was a little more like Miranda Priestly than she cared to admit. With another relationship down the drain, it was becoming glaringly obvious exactly what took priority in her life—her _job._

Her entire justification for upping and leaving in Paris had rested on the single point that she would _never_ , _ever_ , become like Miranda Priestly. The thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , some of what Miranda had said to her two-plus years ago in the back of a town car had been _right_ was just far too depressing a thought to entertain at that moment.

Andy pulled the covers up and around her shoulders as she snuggled deeper into the mattress, and a little deeper into her bleak mood.

She sighed.

It was Sunday and she had nowhere to be. Her social life for the better part of the past year had consisted of Kelly, Kelly’s friends and Alice; and Alice was married so she had her own life.

She hadn’t spoken to Lily since she and Nate decided to call it quits barely four months into his move to Boston, and as a result she had managed to drift away from Doug as well. They still exchanged the odd email, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him face to face.

So what if she decided to wallow in self-pity for a day? Absolutely no one was there to see it, and she wasn’t in any danger of being interrupted by all of her friends banging down her door.

She barely even spoke to her roommate. Carmen was a bartender so she lived on a diet of ‘sleep all day, party all night.’ The one time Andy had actually seen her before eight a.m. on a Tuesday she had looked like she had stuffed half a pharmacy up her nose and had been struggling to find the toilet.

Regardless, she paid her rent on time, always put in for her share of the bills and never brought the party back to the apartment. What she did in her free time was her business.

Andy heard her phone buzz, and she rolled over to grab it.

She glanced at the caller ID and promptly tossed it aside. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to face more guilt trips from her mother over missing Thanksgiving. Not to mention that she cancelled her plans to fly back for Christmas as well, instead opting to get into the good graces of some of her co-workers by volunteering to join the skeleton crew covering the 24th to the 26th. It gave her the opportunity to stretch her legs on the City and Crime beats as well, as everyone tended to pool their resources and cover whatever was needed.

Plus, Alice had invited her to join her and her husband for Christmas dinner, so she wouldn’t be alone.

God, her life _sucked._

 _Pity party it is_ , Andy thought as she picked up her phone again and dialled the number for the nearest pizza place.

She then progressed to spend the rest of Sunday lying in bed, crying over movies from a ‘Top Ten Most Depressing Films of All Time’ list, and stuffing herself full of cheese coated carbs.

* * *

  
“We should invite Andrea,” Serena said to Emily as they discussed their plans for Friday night drinks.

Emily raised her eyebrow at her friend.

“Just because you want to get in her pants doesn’t mean I should have to suffer through her company,” Emily said, rolling her eyes.

“The party was fun,” Serena said matter-of-factly.

“A once off,” Emily shot back.

“You like her,” Serena said knowingly, smirking at Emily.

“Fine, fine,” Emily said, waving her off, “But don’t act like this isn’t because Amy has an obsession with Starbucks’ Eggnog lattes and found out that her and that barista broke up.”

“It’s like Christmas in a cup!” Serena said in her best impersonation of Miranda’s short, bubbly second assistant.

Emily snorted. The 5ft 11in, tit-less wonder with her Brazilian accent may have been beautiful, but not even beauty could have saved that hatchet job.

“So, you’ll call her?” Serena asked then, imploringly.

Emily rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, _fine_ Serena. Now, get out of here. I’m busy!” Emily ordered.

* * *

Miranda sat at her desk and pressed her the tip of her glasses to her bottom lip.

Almost two years.

She couldn’t believe it.

Kristen had performed above and beyond her duty, and it was well and truly past the time that she should have moved on.

Miranda knew she had to let her go, but she had come to rely on the girl with her wry, deadpan expressions in direct contradiction to her blue-eyed, blonde-haired appearance.

Emily had called her the ‘Barbie Doll’ when she had first been hired, but what Emily had failed to realize was that out of the two of them, Emily was definitely the Barbie.

Amy would have to take over for the time being, then she would need to shuffle her out as well. The two women had come in barely two months apart.

Amy had been Kristen’s first, and _only_ hire. Quite the step up from Emily.

Well, thankfully she had delayed long enough to open something up in Accessories, should the serious blonde make the decision to accept. She could choose where she wanted to go otherwise, and if possible, she would make it happen.

She tabled the same offer to all employees who survived a minimum of 12 months and proved their worth on one of those two desks.

There had only ever been _one_ exception when it came to the expectation of time served.

Miranda shook her head.

Nigel and his godforsaken meddling.

She could have made it through that entire party without engaging with _her._

Now she was left with a handful of irritatingly pleasant memories. Not to mention the strange ideas that were stemming from them. Ideas she was having trouble shaking off.

She had _enjoyed_ the woman’s company.

Andrea had been confident, self-assured, and Nigel was right, Lhuillier had been a good choice for her.

 _It was good to see you._ She had _meant_ it too. Miranda could see it in those doe-eyes which never had been able to hide a thing.

It was ridiculous.

Not to mention she had invested far too much time in thinking about it already.

Regardless of what had happened during their little interlude, Andrea was otherwise engaged.

A _barista_ , a snarky little voice in her mind reminded her.

Not to mention this was the woman who had ungraciously and ungratefully left her stranded in Paris and hadn’t so much as deigned to offer any explanation or apology for her actions.

_Not everyone._

She felt her spine stiffen as she thought back to that particular day, and her thoughts about Andrea ground to a halt.

She had more important things to be dealing with.

“Kristen,” she called, “Come in here and close the door.”

* * *

  
“Congratulations,” Emily said as the four women raised their glasses in toast.

“Thank you,” Kristen smiled as she took a sip of Dom Pérignon.

“So, have you decided?” Serena asked, straight to the point as usual.

“I’m taking Miranda’s offer,” Kristen replied.

“Oh, Thank God!” Amy said in relief. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually _left._ You’re the Miranda-whisperer, not me.”

“No, the Miranda-whisperer just arrived,” Serena said, raising her arm to catch the attention of the leggy brunette who just entered the bar.

Emily rolled her eyes.

Time and distance from that office had allowed her jealousy over Andrea’s status with Miranda to fade. In fact, she no longer invested any energy into thinking about the disaster of a year that had been 2006. No, now her thoughts surrounding Andrea had turned more to intrigue. Particularly after sneaking glances of the reporter with Miranda at the launch. She wondered, would she and Miranda ever be like that should she happen to leave Runway?

Somehow she highly doubted it.

She watched as Andrea smiled and made her way over.

Even Emily had to admit, she looked good.

_Good enough even for La Priestly?_

She admonished herself. She had obviously been spending too much time with Nigel. Any time Andrea was mentioned in relation to Miranda, Nigel got a twinkle in his eye. He really need to get laid before Miranda cottoned onto his schemes and decided to dangle him from her office window.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Andrea said with an apologetic smile as she approached.

Serena embraced the reporter in greeting and kissed her cheek.

Emily couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her opportunistic friend, whilst taking in the obviously intrigued look of Miranda’s two current assistants. Andrea was a surprisingly persistent urban legend in the halls of Runway, and her appearance at the L'Homme launch had only reminded people of her otherworldly abilities to escape the ire of Miranda Priestly. Emily couldn’t count on one hand the number of people who had found an excuse to be in her office the following day to ask about the great and mythical _Andréa_ , like _she_ was some kind of Andrea Sachs expert.

She rolled her eyes again.

“Drink?” she asked Andrea curtly by way of greeting, before shoving a glass of champagne into her hand.

Andrea eyed the glass, quirking an eyebrow in question. “What are we celebrating?”

“Kristen finally escaped,” Emily said, indicating to the blonde.

Andrea turned and smiled at Miranda’s most recent former-first-assistant.

“Congratulations,” she said, tilting her glass towards to the blonde, “Not everyone can manage it,” she finished with a self-deprecating smirk.

“You managed it, however,” Kristen noted, as she raised her glass to meet Andrea’s halfway. “You have quite the reputation, _Andrea_.”

Emily had heard more than enough about Andrea, and her subsequent survival to last a lifetime. She wasn’t about to listen to it on her night off.

“Oh do sit down Andrea, I have no desire to be staring up at the ceiling for the rest of the evening. Roald Dahl wrote a book about you already, so there’s no need to draw attention to yourself.”

Andrea chuckled as she sat down next to her at the table. The cocktail bar was small and a little crowded, but they made the best Margarita’s this close to the office and it meant all of them could meet after work and start the party as soon as possible.

Amy was still smirking at her snide comment as she introduced herself and Emily watched as the two brunettes got acquainted.

Kristen had surprised her when she had chosen Amy for the position. In direct contrast to the wry blonde, Amy was smiley, bubbly and a ball of energy. Her pixie hair cut accentuated small features and the woman couldn’t seem to help talking a mile a minute. It was a good balance though, and Miranda appeared to agree given that both women had been in the trenches for almost two years and were still breathing.

She had figured Amy and Andrea would get along, both with their incessant need to smile. _Constantly._

As a tray of Margarita’s approached their table, Emily smirked.

Maybe she could have a little revenge on the Andrea after all.

* * *

  
“I’m drunk,” Andy said matter-of-factly as she stood next to Emily, who was smoking a cigarette. “Why are you smoking?”

“None of your business. Where’s Serena?”

“Dancing with this gorgeous Latina woman in a red dress,” she said, indicating back towards the club she had just exited, the bass still reaching them on the third floor smoking deck.

“I’m surprised she’s not dancing with you,” Emily replied, squinting her eyes. She was positively wankered.

“I wouldn’t go there, Em,” Andy replied.

“Why not? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing!”

Emily snorted.

“Perhaps you have your sights set even higher, hmm? A certain editor-in-chief in a red dress?”

Andy smacked her on the arm. “Not funny!”

“Come on _Andy_ , why not?”

“You can’t be serious!?”

Emily laughed then, stumbling slightly into Andrea. “You should see your face,” she said as she stubbed her cigarette out, even as Andrea caught her.

“I missed you, Em,” Andrea said earnestly.

“You _are_ drunk, Sachs,” the Emily laughed, tugging her back towards the club. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

* * *

 

“You know, I kind of get it,” Amy said, nattering away as she usually did while Kristen simply nodded.

“Hmm?” Kristen replied as she reviewed another resume from HR.

“ _Her_ ,” Amy said, her eyes flickering towards Miranda’s office to make sure they weren’t being observed. “I mean, there’s something about her isn’t there?”

“I didn’t think she was particularly remarkable,” Kristen noted as she scanned the document in front of her.

“Oh come _on_ , she has—I don’t know—presence? And she's so _nice_." 

“I think you're confusing the woman with the myth,” Kristen said, lowering her tone and glancing up at Amy in warning. She heard silence from Miranda’s office.

It was never truly silent in Miranda’s office.

“What do you think of number three?” she asked then in a bored tone, distracting the soon-to-be first assistant before she got herself fired.

Miranda had been gracious enough to allow them both the evening off on Friday, she wasn’t about to test the woman’s generosity.

“You know what, I like her,” Amy whispered then. _Loudly._

She was _not_ referring to their possible candidate for second assistant.

“Amy,” a Miranda called out, and Kristen winced.

“Yes, Miranda?” Amy said, moving quickly to the door way.

“Coffee,” she said, and Kristen recognized the challenging tone. “You have…eight minutes.”

“Of course, Miranda,” Amy said weakly before turning on her heels and walking briskly until she was out of Miranda’s line of sight.

She would be running now.

Kristen grabbed her phone and dialled Starbucks.

“This is Kristen from Miranda Priestly’s office,” she said simply.

The voice down the line chuckled before affirming they were on it.

“Thank you, that’s all I needed to know,” she said, before hanging up the phone.

“And I want my lunch in twenty,” Miranda said, her voice floating gently out of the office, the tone all-knowing.

Kristen sighed. She was going to _kill_ Amy.

“Yes, Miranda.”


	9. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**December 2008  
(Months since Paris: 26)**

Christmas was fast approaching and Andy sat back in her chair, laughing hysterically as one of the guys from the Crime desk began regaling her with a story about two soccer Moms, one Barbie iDesign and the resulting brawl that had left one of them with a black eye. It had been a tit punch which had finally tipped it over, and Andy was gripping her sides as he held his iPhone 3G up and started flicking through the pictures.

“Look, I’m pretty sure that’s a chunk of hair in her hand in that one!” he exclaimed, pointing at the biggest tech device since the iPod.

“Oh I don’t know,” Andy teased, trying to catch her breath. “The picture’s a little blurry there Marcus.”

“It’s a 2 megapixel camera!” he protested, like it was the best thing since the invention of alcohol, “On a phone!”

Andy burst out laughing at the look of pure indignation on his face before turning back to the pile of Christmas cards sitting on her desk. She had been filling them out at a pace so she could get them in the post before the end of the day. She shouldn’t have left it so late – it would be a bloody miracle if they managed to arrive on time with the way Christmas post was.

“I don’t know why you bother. No one reads that crap,” he said before returning to an article he had been looking over for her and taking a swig from the beer sitting next to him on the desk.

Marcus was probably right, but she couldn’t help herself. With the season upon them she had suddenly found herself caught up in the Christmas spirit. Well,  _spirits_  she thought with a wry smile. Despite being exceptionally busy in the run up to the holiday, she seemed to have been inundated with Christmas parties to attend, and had chosen to attend them.

Yes, life had definitely started approaching an upswing for Andy since November, and the weirdest part of it all was that it seemed to be on account of Emily Charlton. She may have let slip about her abysmal social life after one too many Margarita’s and the following week she had been extended another invitation for drinks.

“I can’t stand you looking like a wounded puppy,” had been Emily’s explanation. She didn’t complain. She enjoyed spending time with Emily. It was nice to have people to bitch about work with, and if she enjoyed hearing stories about what terror Miranda had been instilling in her employees, well, so what?

Andy touched her pen to her lips as she thought about being on the receiving end of Miranda’s charm a few scant weeks before. There was little doubt now, she had _definitely_ enjoyed it.

She should never have answered that damn call.

It was a moment that wouldn’t be repeated, and she felt like she had been robbed of the opportunity to see the woman behind the mask.

She reached over and took a drink from the punch on her desk.

The Mirrorparty was tonight, and the office had decided to start early. She was already about two of the full three sheets to the wind.

As she reached for another card, she grabbed a particularly garish one with a fat Santa on the front.

 _Oh what would it hurt_ , she thought with a snigger, it wasn't like Miranda read her own Christmas cards anyway.

She tapped her pen against her lip before deciding on her approach.

_Dear Miranda,_

_Wishing you and the girls a very Merry Christmas.  
October certainly was an experience. _

_Enjoy your holiday,_

_A._

She paused before cheekily adding a short ' _P.S. Red is definitely your colour_ ’before closing the card with a smirk. It had to be the ugliest card to ever grace the Christmas card industry.

She giggled.

Oh God, was she  _giggling_!?

“Marcus!” Andy called out. “What the hell was in that drink!?”

“Fucked if I know,” he called out helpfully in reply.

Andy rolled her eyes, taking another sip before stuffing the card in an envelope, jotting a quick M. Priestly c/o Runway on the front and then tossing it down on her desk. 

 _Maybe I’ll hand deliver it_ , she thought with a chuckle. She could only imagine the look on Miranda’s face if she dared step foot into the halls of Runway.

Alice swung round at that moment and dropped another glass of punch on her desk.

“Come on you, leave  _that_ ,” she said, indicating to the pile of cards, “Let’s go put our glad rags on.”

Andy stacked the pile of cards, ready to go at the edge of her desk ready to post in the morning. What difference would another 12 hours make, really?

She propped the one for Miranda up against her monitor and laughed.

She wondered how courageous she’d feel in the morning.

* * *

 

The following day Andy pulled her sunglasses from her face before sitting gingerly down at her desk. The throbbing in her head had only slightly subdued since she woke up this morning, and she began rummaging around for some ibuprofen.

As she popped the pills in her mouth and sat back, the first thing she noticed that some Good Samaritan must have grabbed the Christmas cards from her desk this morning and put them in the company post bag.

The second thing she then recalled was giggling like a school girl and writing a card laced with pure smart-assery to the editor-and-chief of Runway.

The third thing she realized was that the card in question was  _gone_.

"No, surely not," she muttered as poked around her desk, a sickening feeling creeping into her stomach and adding to her already brutal hangover. Her body temperature spiked in panic as she realized she couldn't find it.

"Shit, shit, shit," she cursed as she grabbed her desk phone and called down to the mail room.

"Can you put me on to whoever collected the mail for the 8th floor this morning?” she asked calmly, tapping her foot.

“The  _Mirror_ offices,” she continued. “A new guy? Yeah, put him on—Hi this Andrea Sachs, I’m a Senior Reporter at the  _New York Mirror_ , did you pick up a pile of cards from my desk this morning?"  
  
Andy kept searching around her monitor as she waited for his reply. 

"Yes, yes, about 45 or so,” she explained.

She fought the urge to groan as he answered in the affirmative, before beginning to panic himself.  “No, no, it's alright, nothing’s wrong, it’s just there was an envelope I hadn’t addressed ye—"

The reporter felt a pit form in her stomach as he recognized immediately to what she was referring.

"Yes that’s the one,” she confirmed.

“Oh, you _addressed_ it?” she stammered, feeling the pit in her stomach sink a little lower.

“ _And_  you put a stamp on it?” she sighed, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“And what time did the post go out?” she asked wearily, waiting in vain for the answer, because it wasn't like it mattered at this point.

“Eight a.m.? Oh, no, no, that’s fine, I just wanted to make sure they had been sent, Christmas post and all that,” she said, leaning back in her chair and looking skyward.

“No, thank _you_ _, so so_ much for your  _help_. Merry Christmas,” she finished as she hung up her phone and stared at it in disbelief.

At that moment Marcus decided to swing past her desk.

“Starbucks?” he asked.

Andy groaned and let her head hit the desk.

* * *

 

“Well, did you put a return address on it?” Amy whispered down the phone, glancing toward Miranda’s office. She was in no mood to be sent on another impossible errand on account of Andy Sachs. Her day had already gotten off to a stellar start - her mother called to berate her about not coming home for Christmas, not to mention Kristen was now gone and her replacement was...well definitely _not_ Kristen. Things that were usually just _done_ had started piling up and Amy wasn't sure she could manage this job, or Miranda, without her other half.

“Well no, I hadn’t got around to it. I didn’t actually  _intend_  on sending it. I’m not a complete idiot,” Andy said down the phone.

Amy couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. “Really?”

“Okay, _fine_ , I’m an idiot. I was drunk, so sue me,” Andy snapped.

She knew she should be a little more sympathetic, but she couldn't help the small grin that crept onto her face. The mighty Andrea sounded a little stressed.

“Amy,” Miranda called out from the office, and Amy jumped like she had been caught red-handed before realizing Miranda wasn't calling for her at all. She was still adjusting to being two people.

Looking across the office she noted that her replacement still hadn't cottoned on. She clicked her fingers at Jane and watched as she scrambled for a notepad before running to Miranda's door and making a significant amount of noise in the process.

Amy sighed and turned her attention back to Andy.

“Sorry—look, I’ll keep an eye out but I can’t make any promises. We get hundreds of the things, and if you’d stayed long enough to work Christmas you’d know that we don’t open the Christmas cards. Apparently the twins like to do it,” she explained, her voice low.

She listened to Andy groan down the line. "Thanks anyway, Amy," she said with a sigh.

“Hey, come on, it’s not like she actually reads them all. I mean seriously, this is _Miranda_ we’re talking about,” she whispered.

“Good point,” she heard Andy laugh.

Jane walked back to the desk looking a little shell shocked.

“Yes, well thank you for letting us know," Amy said, sitting up in her seat, "I’ll be in touch."

Andy chuckled down the line. “ _Bye_ , Amy.”

The assistant sighed as she dropped the phone back in its cradle. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

Miranda and Cassidy sat on the floor of the town house, wrapping gifts for the girls’ friends while Caroline sat on the nearest sofa, regaling them with the contents of Miranda’s Christmas card haul and giggling at the blatant displays of brown nosing.

“Oh my God!” Caroline exclaimed suddenly and Miranda’s head shot up.

“Language,” she said automatically before turning her eyes to garish card in the 13 year old's hand.

“Why do you care, you don’t even believe in God,” Caroline sassed.

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Caroline grumbled, turning her attention back to the card.

“Man, that person must  _hate_  you,” Cassidy said as she took in the sight of the card. “Maybe it was Irv?”

“I highly doubt it,” Miranda said as she handed Cassidy another box before rearranging her legs beneath her and turning her attention back to Caroline. "Well?" she said, waiting for the more _dramatic_ of her two daughters to begin what was no doubt going to be quite the performance. 

"Dear _Miranda_ ," Caroline began theatrically, lowering her voice and dragging her mother's name out in a breathy tone, "Wishing you _and_ the girls—“

“Oh that’s nice! They never bother mentioning us,” Cassidy piped in, as her sister glared at the interruption. Cassidy rolled her eyes in response and returned to the gift she was currently wrapping.

“As I was  _saying_ ,” Caroline said, “Wishing you and the girls a  _very_ Merry Christmas—oh, this one’s chipper ain’t it?”

“ _Isn’t_  it,” Miranda corrected as she leaned over and absently placed her finger on a piece of wrapping threatening to run away on Cassidy.

“ _Isn’t_  it,” Caroline said, rolling her eyes.

Miranda narrowed her eyes and Caroline quickly returned to the card.

“Oh, what’s _this_?” she said, an impertinent little grin breaking out on her face.

It was a look that generally spelt trouble, and Miranda watched her daughter with interest.

“October certainly was an… _experience_. P.S. Red is  _definitely_  your colour,” Caroline said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, staring at her with a broad smile.

“Oh, give me that,” Miranda snapped as she leaned over and snatched the card out of her daughter’s hand, her eyes trailing quickly over the lines.  
  
She recognized the handwriting immediately.

“Who’s 'A'?” Caroline pressed, watching her closely.

“Nobody,” Miranda responded, attempting to school her features into something resembling nonchalance.

“Liar,” Cassidy said as she joined Caroline in staring at her.

“Are you seeing someone?" Caroline asked. 

"Don't be absurd, Caroline," Miranda said.

"Then why is _A_ sending you a card? And why would someone who  _likes_  you send you something so ugly?” Caroline asked.

“Because they  _knew_  she would hate it,” Cassidy said, her tone wistful enough to make Miranda turn. 

“Well that’s stupid,” Caroline said, screwing up her nose.

“No it’s not! It means they’re teasing her! They like Mom. They _know_ Mom,” Cassidy said.

 _13 going on 30, God help me_ , Miranda thought, raising her eyes heavenward. "I think we need to reduce the amount of rubbish you watch," she said to Cassidy. 

“So, who’s A?” Caroline pressed.

“Somebody of little importance who obviously has a death wish,” Miranda sniffed before getting to her feet. “I’ll be back in a moment. Caroline, help your sister,” she ordered as she moved towards the door, the card still clutched in her hand. 

“Little importance my ass,” she heard Caroline mutter as she walked out and closed the door. 

Miranda climbed the stairs and headed in the direction of her study. She paced the length of the room, pondering what to do.

Andrea Sachs wasn't going away, and these ridiculous reactions she was having obviously weren't either; even her girls had seen it written all over her face.

She was 53 years old. This kind of behaviour was reserved for women half her age. She had built a career and a reputation based on her ironclad control. This would not do. She was not about to felled by a silly 26 year old with a penchant for cheek.

What possessed the woman to write the card in the first place? It had been weeks since they had last seen each other.

Miranda opened the card and read it again. She could ignore it. Andrea should know full well that she received hundreds of the things, if she had wanted to speak to her she could have contacted her directly.

She tapped the edge of the card on the palm of her hand before walking to her desk and opening her laptop.

 _Two can play at this game,_ she thought as she put the card aside and began drafting an email:

_A,_

_An experience?_  
  
Explain.  
  
_M._

_P.S. Yes, it is._

She hit send with a smirk, before strolling from the study.

* * *

  
Andy sat at home, her legs propped up on the coffee table, laptop in her lap and a glass of red wine in her hand. She was making the final edits on an article for the online edition, and was almost finished.

As she scanned her last paragraph, a notification popped up in the corner of her screen.

She choked on her wine when she saw the name.

 _No._  
  
No way.

She pulled up her email and felt her heart rate spike and her mouth go dry.

 _Oh God_ , she thought as she proceeded to neck the remainder of her glass, staring at the unopened message. She rolled her eyes at herself. Drinking was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

She moved the cursor to hover over the message and clicked.

As she read the message she laughed, before shaking her head.

Miranda had just sassed her, _and_ backed her straight into a corner. How the hell was she supposed respond to that!?

Explain?

_Dear Miranda, I got absolutely toasted before my office Christmas party and decided to send you an ugly ass card. I also thought it would be funny to be a smart ass in said card. That’s all. Andy._

Miranda  _knew_  this would put her in panic. She was an expert at psychological torment.

Andy put her laptop aside and stood up. She poured herself another wine before walking laps around the small, cramped living room.

_An experience?_

She had dug herself a hole with that one. Question was, how was she going to dig her way out?

Taking another sip of her wine she ran a hand through her hair, running over a few possibilities before discarding them.

She stormed back to the couch and picked up her laptop.

Band-Aid approach.

_M,_

_Experience: An event or occurrence which leaves an impression on someone._  
  
_You are certainly impressive._

_A._

_P.S. Black’s not bad either._

* * *

Miranda went downstairs to pour herself a glass of wine before rejoining the girls in the living room.

They looked at her suspiciously when she returned, but said nothing. They were well aware she wasn’t about to reveal anything more. She had trained them well.

As she sat down, her Blackberry vibrated, indicating an incoming email. She reached over and picked it up.

 _Well, well,_ she thought as she saw the address.

She opened it and fought against the grin threatening to appear on her lips.

_Clever._

She tapped her lips in thought, ignoring twin sets of eyes on her.

“Those gifts won’t wrap themselves,” she said idly, even as she hit the reply button.

As the rustle of wrapping paper reached her ears as she pondered her reply.

This was dangerous. She was playing with fire and she knew it.

_A,_

_Impressive: Invoking admiration through size, quality or skill._

_Careful, someone might mistake that for a compliment._

_M._

_P. S. The Lhuillier was an admirable choice. Safe, but admirable nonetheless._  
  
  
She read over the message multiple times.

A little suggestive perhaps, but nothing untoward. The woman could take it however she liked.

As she hovered over send, she felt her heart rate spike. This was was skirting an edge she should be steering well clear of. This threatened to pull Andrea close enough that she could no longer be pushed back into the recesses of her mind and ignored save for moments of extreme weakness and every Paris Fashion Week.

Acknowledgement of the message was one thing, but opening up a dialogue? Offering a compliment? That was another thing altogether and she knew it. It made her an active participant in whatever _this_ was. 

Either that or she was simply supplying the woman just enough rope to hang herself with.  
  
_Or you with_ , she thought.

She looked up from her phone to catch two sets of eyes watching her closely.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” they replied in unison, although the look they gave each other suggested otherwise.

She hit send.

* * *

 

Andy stared at the message on her laptop. Miranda didn't give compliments in sentences. Expressions, yes. Single words, occasionally. Full sentences? _Never_.

She had started this, but now she wasn't sure what to do. She had never expected Miranda to respond to the card, and certainly not twice in a single evening. This was unheard of.

And now what?

Andy drummed her fingers on her keyboard. Somehow she was back on Miranda's radar, and considered important enough to not be ignored. What that meant, she couldn't say, but it felt a little like walking into the sun after a long winter. As embarrassing as it was to admit, it made her feel important.

She took a deep breath and drafted a reply:

_M,_

_Someone would be correct in their assumptions._

_A._

_P.S. Thank you._

* * *

 

Amy struggled through the door with the dry cleaning, the book under her arm and swinging her foot out to catch the door before the heavy oak slammed shut in the wind. The weather had turned to absolute shit.  _Brilliant._ First Assistant and she was _still_ doing all the grunt work.

As she turned back, she was stopped dead in her tracks by two bodies, each wearing an expression that was far too innocent for her liking.

One of the two demons moved to open the closet for her and she raised an eyebrow before muttering a quick ‘thanks’ with suspicion in her tone.

She didn’t trust either of them as far as she could throw them.

“Amy,” one of the girls said sweetly. “You don’t happen to know someone who goes by ‘A’, do you?”

Amy looked at them incredulously. “What? ‘A’? A lot of people. _I_ go by ‘A’ sometimes. Take your pick,” she said.

The twins looked at her, and then at each other. One of them shook their head in the negative.

She was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, and wondered where Miranda was.

“Ok, but do you know anyone with a name starting with ‘A’ who would send Mom an ugly Christmas card?” the one who had opened the closet for her asked.

“A Christmas c—“

Amy stopped, understanding dawning on her features.

_Oh God._

She desperately tried to cover her reaction but was a split second too late, and like a couple of lion cubs who smelt blood, they pounced.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” one of them said, strolling forward lightly, hands behind her back as she bent forward slightly and looked up into Amy’s face with a predatory grin.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she paused, “And even if I did, I have two words for you both: No. Comment.”

“Smart girl,” a voice said, drifting down from the second floor, and Amy smirked in satisfaction as she watched the twins jump. “Girls. Bed.  _Now_ ,” the voice growled and they turned and flew up the stairs, heads down as they passed their mother.

“I’m sorry Miranda,” Amy apologized. “Th—I mean, I shouldn’t ha—“

She watched her formidable boss descend the stairs with a sense of dread, the older woman waving off her protests with a flick of her wrist. Amy shut her mouth until she found herself standing face to face with Miranda in the foyer of the townhouse.

“Its fine,” Miranda said, “They manage to run circles around even  _me_  on occasion.”

Amy found herself breathing a sigh of relief.

“However,” Miranda continued, and Amy felt her heart sink, “I’m judging from your reaction that you’re aware of what they were referring to?”

She winced, nodded, and then sent an apology out into the nether.  _Sorry Andy._

Miranda did not look pleased. In fact, she looked very far from it.

“Would you care to share the details?” Miranda said in a tone that indicated that was not a question, but an order. Her boss had a tight grip on her Blackberry, and it looked like she was intending to crush it.

“Well, Andr—I mean ‘A’ called and asked me to intercept a card that had been mistakenly sent to the office,” Amy explained, aware of how ridiculous she sounded.

“I see. Do continue,” Miranda said.

“Well, I think that ‘A’ felt that perhaps the card, or more importantly, the  _content_  may not have been...ahh…suitable…? Given A’s history with the office in question.”

“I am intrigued as to what on Earth possessed ‘A’ to send it in the first place. A practical joke, perhaps? I’m presuming you are aware of this also, seeing as you and ‘A’ seem to have struck up _quite_ the friendship.”

Amy didn’t like the way this conversation was turning, and an old conversation with Emily started to come to mind.

_Whatever you do, don’t mention the name Andrea-bloody-Sachs in her presence. I don’t know what it is about that woman but she really got Miranda’s goat._

She didn’t want to throw Andy under the bus, but as she stood there, those icy-blue eyes staring into her soul, she knew she couldn’t lie.

“Vodka?” she squeaked.

Miranda’s nostrils flared, and Amy was seriously beginning to worry for her personal safety.

“Thank you Amy,” Miranda said, her tone deadly. 

As Amy bolted for the door she had a distinct feeling that she had not only just thrown Andy under the bus, but that she might have just sentenced herself to a new kind of hell in the office of Miranda Priestly.

She had only been there for the tail end of the last time Andy Sachs crossed Miranda, but from Kristen’s description of her first few weeks, going to toe-to-toe with a grizzly bear sounded like a pleasant summer holiday in comparison.

* * *

  
As Miranda watched her assistant scarper out the door, she stood there, an unpleasant kind of fury building up, equal parts rage and disappointment at herself for being such a complete fool.

She should have known it was a mistake to entertain any ideas whatsoever about Andrea Sachs.

The girl had done nothing but disappoint her time and time again.

This time however, she had gone too far.

Flirting her way out of a drunken practical joke? It was tacky, and Miranda couldn’t for the life of her understand why she had expected anything more. This was the girl that walked out on her job, threw her phone in a fountain, and then proceeded to do little more than leave her a single pitiful line on a piece of hotel stationary as explanation. She had launched her career off Miranda's good graces and had saved her thanks for a childish stunt with a cup of coffee. She had never acknowledged her failings, nor had she ever apologized.

No, Miranda couldn’t for the life of her understand why she had allowed that woman to reenter her life in any capacity. Thankfully she hadn’t allowed it to go any further than it already had. Right now it was nothing that couldn't be rectified. Andrea Sachs had waltzed back into her life because she had allowed her to do so. That time was now over. 

Miranda stood in the empty foyer, opened her Blackberry and deleted Andrea’s emails.

It was time to stop dwelling on the past.

* * *

 

“Andrew?” Caroline asked as she trailed after her mother up the stairs to the townhouse the following day.

“Oh, oh! What about André?” Cassidy said as they entered the house and she began pulling off her boots. “That sounds exotic.”

Caroline watched her mother sigh visibly as she removed her coat.

“Have we not been over this? _Multiple times_ I might add,” she said as she eyed the two girls, before opening the closet and hanging her coat.

“Yeah, but you still haven’t told us who ‘A’ is, and we heard Amy say ‘And’ something,” Caroline replied as she tugged off both her boots, leaving them in a pile next to her sister’s before taking off her coat too.

“After I expressly told you to go to bed,” Miranda growled as she reached for Cassidy’s coat first. “Eavesdropping is a disgusting habit and I won’t have it happening in this house again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah, yeah” Caroline answered for them both, brushing off her mother’s scolding. “Anders? We haven’t tried Anders yet,” she said as she glanced across at Cassidy with a smirk.

“What kind of name is Anders?” Miranda sighed wearily as grabbed Caroline’s coat and hung it before closing the closet and turning to move towards the stairs.

“I heard it on a TV show once,” Caroline supplied.

“What about Andy?” Cassidy suddenly piped up behind them both, and Caroline came to a halt as she noted her mother’s suddenly rigid posture.

“That’s it!” Caroline laughed. “Andy, Andy, Andy—hey didn’t you have an assistant called Andy once? The Harry Pott—“

“That is _enough_!” Miranda whirled around and barked. “I’ve had more than enough of this nonsense. This topic is closed, and if I hear either of you mention it again there will no electronic devices for month, and that will include your iPhones. Understood?”

Caroline gulped.

She was livid.

She nodded in apology, and felt Cassidy mirror her and do the same.

Apparently satisfied with their now contrite expressions, Miranda turned and started moving up the stairs.

Caroline turned to face Cassidy, recovering quickly from her mother’s ire.

“ _Andrea?_ ” Cassidy mouthed incredulously at her, and Caroline broke into a broad grin.

“Mom,” Caroline began again, moving to follow her upstairs. “Did I tell you about Melissa Sanderson? Her Mom just left her Dad for a  _woman_ ,” she said, even as Cassidy shook her head next to her and pulled her iPhone out of her pocket with a groan.

* * *

It had been over 24 hours and Miranda hadn’t responded to her email.

Andy was now pretty sure she had made a colossal mistake. Apparently she had severely misread the situation and crossed over some invisible line constructed by the capricious editor-in-chief.

As she read over the emails again, she shook her head.

_No. That wasn’t my imagination._

As her shoulder began to ache she rolled over, readjusting the novel she was reading. She was having trouble drifting off. Although she hated to admit, she had spent the better part of her day today checking her emails, hoping for some indication from Miranda, but nothing had come.

She had hoped—

_Hoped what exactly?_

Well, that was the problem wasn’t it? What exactly _had_ she hoped to achieve with that little stunt? She could have shut it down with an apology, but instead she had _flirted._

There was no point in denying it. Every time she read over the emails they seemed to become more and more suggestive.

It was just the challenge, _surely._ Miranda didn’t like to back down from a challenge, and neither did she.

It had escalated, and the editor-in-chief had simply put a stop to it before it could go any further.

That was all.

She should be pleased.

Things could have become very awkward.

She admonished herself as her mind drifted to the smattering of light freckles across Miranda’s shoulder as she stood at the railing, stunning in contrast in a red Valentino.

She was saved from her own mind by her phone.

 _Must be a story breaking_ , she thought as she glanced down at her watch. It was 11:07pm.

“Sachs,” she answered, not bothering to check the number.

“Andy?”

“Amy?” Andy replied in surprise.

“Yeah, look, I should have called last night but, well—ow!” the assistant exclaimed suddenly, before another voice came on the line.

“She told Miranda that you got trolleyed, sent that ridiculous card, and then tried to get her to stop it reaching her,” Emily said matter-of-factly.

Andy sat up then, her book flying off the bed.

“She what!? When!?”

There was shuffling and then Amy was back on the line.

“Last night. Andy I’m so sorry, the girls' cornered me and asked me about a mysterious ‘A’ and an some Christmas card and they saw it on my face. Miranda wanted to know how I knew, and oh  _God_  Andy you  _know_  how she is!” Amy whimpered.

Andy threw herself backwards, her head hitting the pillow as she fought the urge to scream. 

 _Well, that would explain the silence._  
  
“Its fine Amy, thanks for letting me know. Can you put Emily back on please?”

“Sure, I really am sorry Andy,” she said before passing the phone over.

“How has she been?” Andy asked, getting straight to the point.

“A bloody nightmare. Every time something happens involving _you_ it’s like World War 3 in this fucking place, so whatever you’ve done, fix it, because I’m currently still at work and will probably have to bloody sleep here at this rate! What was in that card?”

“Well—“

“You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“Em, it’s not what you th—“

“Oh, really? Miranda leaves the launch and you spend the rest of the night looking like someone shot your puppy, and I haven’t even _started_ on her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh Christ, Andrea. Wake up! Are you really that dense? It was like a nuclear winter for the 6 months after you left in Paris and the woman  _still_ gave you a bloody reference! She had an actual  _conversation_  with you at the launch; I even saw her holding your drink! You should have been blackballed out of the industry. If anyone else pulled that stunt they would have been lucky to get a job at McDonald’s and yet here you are, and she  _allows_  you in her presence, God only knows why. I don’t know if I can spell this out for you any more without suggesting something that will make me want to cut out my own tongue,” Emily ranted.

“No, you’ve said enough,” Andy replied weakly.

“Look, all I know is that she wasn’t angry about the card until this idiot let slip you were _drunk_ when you wrote it. Not to mention that you went so far as to call her office, without her knowledge, to correct it,” Emily supplied. “Given your little history with Miranda and _notes_ , I must say I can see her perspective on this. What on Earth were you bloody thinking!?”

“I wasn’t,” Andy admitted.

“No, you weren’t. Now, I don’t care how you do it, just _fix_ it,” Emily growled again before hanging up.


	10. Happy New Year

“What’s going on?” Alice asked suddenly.

Andy’s head shot up from her Christmas dinner and she realized both Alice and her husband Liam were staring at her.

“God, sorry,” Andy apologized, plucking up her wine glass and taking a big swig. She had been miles away. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen you so quiet,” Alice admonished.

“It’s nothing. Mom called earlier, you know how mothers get,” Andy replied, shrugging.

Alice eyed her carefully before turning to Liam. “Darling, would you mind getting another bottle of red?”

“Subtle, Al,” he said, shaking his head and getting to his feet.

“Liam, don’t leave me!” Andy laughed.

“Sorry Sachs, but you know how she gets,” he chuckled as he leant over and dropped a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Behave,” he whispered, with a wink towards the reporter before excusing himself.

Andy liked Liam. At 6ft 5in he towered over everyone. He had a relaxed demeanor, his sandy blond hair just a touch too long. In his glasses he reminded Andy of an old history professor, with that squint of someone who spent too much time pouring over books. She always thought of him as a gentle giant. She could never imagine him raising a hand against anyone. His ability to temper Alice was an added bonus.

“Spill,” Alice ordered.

Andy sighed. “It’s nothing Alice, truly.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday Andrea Sachs; _that_ is not a _Mom_ face,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of Andy’s profile.

She rolled her eyes in response. “Fine. Cliff notes version is I ran into an old friend, some things were said after the fact, and now they’re angry and I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“ _They?_ ”

“Yes, _they_. I’m not saying anymore.”

“Well, you don’t have to. How is Miranda by the way?”

_You have **got** to be kidding me. _

“ _Alice,_ ” Andy said in warning.

“Oh calm down, I’m not going to say anything. But seriously, I was _at_ that party Andy. You could feel the sexual tension from a mile away.”

Andy balked. “Sexual tension? You have _got_ to be joking.”

“Oh Andy, come _on._ You do realize the only person you’re fooling is yourself?”

“There’s nothing to _fool_ anyone about. There’s nothing going on between Miranda and I.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Alice sassed. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So your plan is to brood for the next few weeks and hope it sorts itself out? How very un-Andy-like. You’re not about to tell me you’re afraid of the Dragon Lady are you?”

Andy bristled. “No, of course not!”

“Mm hmm,” Alice said with a smirk as she speared a piece of roast turkey.

Liam re-entered with a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. “Is it safe to approach?”

“ _Please_ ,” Andy begged.

* * *

 

Andy proceeded to brood over her little Miranda issue for another couple of days before she finally picked up the phone.

“Nigel Kipling’s office,” a voice answered down the line.

“Hi, this is Andrea Sachs, he’s not expecting my call.”

“Just a moment.”

Andy drummed her fingers impatiently on her desk. Nigel had been the only person she could think of. He had been the person she always went to with her Miranda problems, from the very beginning. She was beginning to feel like that out-of-her-depth newbie assistant all over again and she despised the feeling.

The hold music stopped and she was greeted with a familiar voice.

“Why am I not surprised?” Nigel greeted in a knowing tone.

Andy groaned.

“I had a feeling all roads would somehow lead back to you, Miss Sachs. Now, what can I do for you?” he continued.

“I need help,” she admitted, albeit begrudgingly.

“You certainly do,” he said with a chuckle. “What did you do this time?”

“Let’s just say there was a misunderstanding over a Christmas card and leave it at that.”

“Your secrets are yours to keep,” Nigel said. “So how can I help?”

“I don’t know to be honest.”

“You’re not giving me a lot to work with here Six. All I have is an obviously irritated Miranda Priestly. Not that this is a _new_ occurrence when you happen to pop into the picture, mind you,” he laughed.

“Very funny,” Andy said, rolling her eyes.

“Come on Six, you’ve got to admit, you really do have a way of putting your foot in it when it comes to our snowy-haired sovereign.”

“Fine. Look, there were some emails exchanged. They were _friendly._ And then they stopped because of something I did, but she’s taken it _completely_ out of context.”

“ _Friendly_ , hmm?”

“Nigel,” Andy growled.

“Well, how serious was your little faux pas?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Andy replied.

“Apologize,” Nigel said simply.

“I tried. Amy’s on orders to screen my calls, and I’m quite sure my emails too.”

“She’s nothing if not predictable,” Nigel muttered. “I have an idea, but it’s going to be public and will involve a dress. You’ll need to be careful, you know how much she hates public displays.”  
  
Andy’s mind shot back to a hammered ex-husband with a big mouth.

“I know. I’ll be subtle.”

“Alright, I’ll have something sent to your apartment.”

“Thank you, Nigel.”

“See you soon,” he chuckled before hanging up.

* * *

Andy stood staring up at the entrance to the Waldorf Astoria.

 _Subtle_ wasn’t exactly the word she would use to describe this dress.

Nigel was having far too much fun with this and she knew it.

She brushed down the front of the Elie Saab, straight from the Fall 2008 Collection. She had seen it during the shows back in February, but it wasn’t anything she had imagined on herself. It was a deep royal blue, in slightly metallic tones which pulled together under her left breast before fanning out across her chest. It was strapless, and not to mention a hint too short on her frame. The four and a half-ish inch Prada pumps were doing nothing to help the situation, but she was at least thankful that Nigel had thought to include some sheer black tights so she didn’t feel so utterly exposed. Regardless, the only thing saving her from freezing to death was the black Burberry trench he had added to the package.

 _Take a risk_ , the note had said.

After all the warnings about subtlety, and he had gone out of his way to make sure she wouldn’t be missed.

Well, she could hardly complain. Her credit card wasn’t cut out for two fancy parties in two months and she highly doubted Zara was going to cover her ass for this one.

 _Well, in for a penny_ , she thought.

Taking a deep breath, Andy ascended the stairs and passed through security.

“Good evening, which party?” an usher asked politely.

“New York Publishing,” she replied.

“Right this way,” he said, as he guided her towards the elevators. Andy looked around the foyer and it was packed to the nines. It would appear that every function room in the hotel was booked out this evening. God she _hated_ New Year’s Eve in New York.

As she stepped into the elevator, her phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out, hitting accept without hesitation. She didn’t need caller ID to tell her who was obviously on the end of the line.

“Nigel,” she answered.

“Oh thank God, I was beginning to think you had lost your nerve and decided to ruin my entire evening’s worth of entertainment.”

“Ha-ha,” Andy said rolling her eyes, “I’ll be there soon.”

As they reached the third floor, Andy filed off with the remainder of the guests obviously attending the same party in the Grand Ballroom.

Well-dressed attendants moved quickly to welcome them and intercept their coats. She felt suddenly exposed without her trench, and rubbed her arm nervously.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked a passing attendant.

“Right this way, Miss,” he replied, leading her down the hall.

Andy thanked him before pushing open the door and entering. She dropped her clutch on the vanity and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She fluffed her bangs and then rolled her eyes. She was going to drive herself crazy.  

This was so much worse than October.

At least she had felt like herself in the Lhuillier.

She shook her head and tilted her chin up to check her eye makeup. Everything was perfect.

She brushed the front of the dress once more before pulling herself up to full height. She was here for a reason and she intended to see it through, whatever the result may be.

Gripping her clutch she turned and exited the bathroom.

* * *

“Remind me to buy you a dictionary and show you the definition of subtle,” Andy muttered as she stood next to Nigel, moving from heel to heel, fighting against the nervous energy the was bubbling in her chest.

“Would you stop fidgeting,” he admonished, handing her a drink.

She accepted it and took a large gulp, her eyes scanning out across the party. It was surprisingly lively affair, and given that the bulk of attendees were editors, writers and photographers, they weren’t holding back on the drinks. She had admittedly been expecting something a bit more tight-laced.

Andy hedged a glance at her watch. It was just after 9:00pm, and Miranda was due at 9:15pm.

She knocked back her wine and grabbed another from the bar they were currently standing at.

“Woah, slow down there, Tiger,” Nigel warned, grabbing her arm and dragging her away. “Subtlety is working this room, not hanging drunkenly off the bar while you wait for her highness to arrive.”

Andy was beginning to think this was the absolute worst idea she had ever had. If Miranda wanted to ignore her, then doing so in a room with hundreds of other people wasn’t going to be difficult. And if she approached Miranda directly there was no guarantee the woman wouldn’t hesitate in humiliating her.

“Stop over thinking it, and come enjoy the party,” Nigel admonished as he tugged her toward a group of attractive young men, one or two of whom she recognized from the L'Homme launch.

As Andy found her feet in the conversation, she began to relax.

She could do this.

It was a party. It was the New Year, a time for new beginnings.

Maybe Miranda was in the festive spirit?

_Probably not._

“Well if it isn’t _Miranda_ -girl,” a voice said behind her and she felt her blood run cold.

She spun around and found herself face to face with—

“Christian Thompson,” Nigel said, the hint of disgust in his tone evident.

“Nigel,” the blonde said, nodding his head before turning his attention back to Andy.

“The change suits you Andy, I heard you had escaped the clutches of the Wicked Witch. I’ve been following your work, good stuff,” he said with that smarmy smile and Andy was left wondering if her 24-year-old-self had had a head injury.

“Yes, and _thanks_ to _Miranda_ I had the opportunity to do so,” Andy smiled in response.

It wasn’t genuine. Far from it.

She watched as Christian sized her up, with interest.

“An interesting tale, although I heard a different version; one involving a runaway Runway assistant with a particular fondness for _fountains_ ,” he said, matching her smile.

Andy felt the tension in her back, but fought against the urge to react.

“My, my, people _were_ getting creative back in 2006,” Nigel interjected. “Now Christian, if you don’t mind, Miss Sachs is here as my guest and I have some people I wish her to meet.”

“Of course,” Christian acquiesced before reaching out to grab Andy’s wrist gently. “You look good Miranda-girl,” he said, giving a light squeeze before relinquishing his grip with a smile, “You have my number,” he finished before walking away.

“What _were_ you thinking,” Nigel muttered.

Andy rolled her eyes as she placed a hand over where Christian had touched her.

“I have no idea,” she admitted, shaking her head.

“Oh, Christ,” Nigel said, and Andy’s eyes snapped up to look at him. He was looking over her shoulder, and she sighed.

_Of course._

“Miranda?” Andy asked, already aware of the inevitable.

“Yes.”

“Did she see that?”

“I think so.”

“How does she look?”

“Fine, of course. But, exactly _how_ angry did you say she was before?”

_Brilliant._

“Well, there goes that plan,” Andy sighed, before turning to face the reason she was in that room in the first place.

Miranda was no longer looking at her, instead she was engaged in conversation with a short, stout man who looked like he got out from behind his desk about once a year. Probably for this party.

She knew how this would go. Miranda would now proceed to build a wall of people around herself until she decided to leave. If she had had even a sliver of an opportunity, it had now just gone up in smoke.

“Well, that’s that,” she sighed.

“Who are you and what have you done with Andrea Sachs? Since when has the impossible stopped you?”

“Since I realized maybe some things are simply bad ideas,” Andy said, shrugging her shoulders. “This is crazy Nigel, what the hell am I even doing here?”

“You tell me.”

“That’s the problem, I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, don’t you want to find out? Do you really want to walk away? _Again_? You can’t avoid each other forever.”

“Well, actually—“

Nigel waved her off.

“Look, I don’t know what is going on, but there’s definitely _something_ , even if it’s just mutual respect. You’ve always had good chemistry, that’s what made you such a good assistant. At the very least you _do_ care about what she thinks. Do you really want to leave this as it is, over a simple misunderstanding? She thinks very highly of you Six, always has.”

Andy stared at him.

“That wasn’t fair,” she moaned.

“I never proclaimed to play nice,” he winked in response, before his head shot up. “She’s leaving. If you’re going to do anything, now would be the time.”

Andy spun around and watched Miranda heading for the exit.

_What the hell._

She took off at a brisk walk, the word ‘subtle’ ringing through her mind as she passed through the doors and watched an attendant hold an elevator open for the snowy haired editor. She was already wrapped in her Fendi fur and strolling directly for the doors.

_Oh, fuck subtle._

Andy broke into a jog, sidestepping the attendant and slipping in after Miranda. She swung around and hit the ‘close door’ button before the older woman had a chance to protest.

The lift attendant’s cries were abruptly cut off by the closing door.

“What on Earth do you think you—“ Miranda began, sounding outraged.

“One minute, that’s all I ask,” Andy said.

“Are you drunk?” Miranda snapped.

“Not today, no,” Andy replied with a wry smile.

“Wonderful, if that’s all you came here to sa—“

“Oh, let me finish,” Andy scolded lightly.

The elevator stopped on the second floor and Miranda glared at whoever dared try to use it, leaning past Andy to bash the button once again.

“Well, get on with it,” she ordered.

“I came to say, I’m sorry,” she said rapidly, aware that they would reach the ground floor at any moment. “I’m sorry for walking out on you in Paris in the middle of fashion week. I’m sorry for answering my phone at the launch,” she said as Miranda simply stared, arms folded across her chest and her face unreadable as she continued. “But—“

“Oh, there’s a ‘but’? Why am I not surprised?” Miranda said in a cool, but controlled tone, cutting Andy off. The reporter chose to ignore the strain evident in Miranda’s neck and shoulders which indicated extreme anger.

“Yes, _but_ ,” Andy reiterated. “I’m not sorry for the Christmas card. Yes, I had been drinking, and yes I know you found out about that, but I meant what I said. You look great in Valentino, and you are impressive. In fact, I think you’re the most impressive wo—“

The elevator dinged, signaling the end of their exceedingly short trip.

 _Goddamn it_ , she thought.

“I’m sorry, Miranda,” she reiterated quickly, before schooling her features and turning to face the now opening doors.

As Miranda brushed straight passed her, she tried her best to ignore the twinge of disappointment in her gut.

She wasn’t finished, far from it in fact. She could think of a hundred other things she wished to say to the woman now that she had started.

The foyer was thankfully crowded, so the fact that Miranda Priestly had just shared an elevator with an ex-assistant went generally unnoticed. Not that anyone would question her. Ever. 

Andy began to move towards the exit before realizing she had left her Burberry trench and Nigel upstairs.

Turning back towards the elevator, she was startled when her clutch vibrated under her arm.

_Nigel._

She reached in to pull out her phone and nearly dropped it when she recognized the number. It had been permanently ingrained in her mind over two years ago. She answered it, her hand shaking.

“Corner of Lexington and 49th. Five minutes,” the voice ordered before she was met with silence.

“Shit,” she said, as she turned back and walked straight towards the exit.

* * *

Miranda stared out at the bustling streets.

Roy was eyeing her in the rearview mirror. She could feel it.

Her eyes snapped up.

“What?” she demanded, her tone waspish. It had taken just about every ounce of self-control she had left to not tear the strips off the woman in the middle of the foyer of the Waldorf.

“We’ve got some time, a deep breath might be good about now,” Roy offered.

Miranda glared at him, before hitting the button for the privacy screen.

She caught the eye roll regardless.

It was petulant, and childish, and she was well aware of it.

She clenched her fists as she attempted to reign in her temper. She hadn’t felt this kind of fury for quite some time. Just over two years in fact.

What on _Earth_ was the woman doing at that party? Well, she knew the answer to that question, and when she got her hands on Nigel she was going to make him regret the day he decided to meddle in her affairs.

As the car came to a halt and she felt Roy step out, she took a moment to follow the driver’s advice and took a deep breath.

 _Helpful_ , she thought in irritation as it failed to quell even a small amount of her ire.

The door opened and familiar figure moved quickly into the back seat, pulling the door closed abruptly behind her.

The silence that settled was oppressive.

As the car began to move, Miranda turned to face the woman who had somehow managed to get under her skin and rattle her impeccable self-control.

“Where on Earth is your coat?” she snapped.

Andrea rubbed her arms before turning to face her.

“I left it upstairs. You didn’t exactly give me time to go back up and get it,” Andrea snapped back, apparently ruffled by her tone.

 _Good_.

The brunette sighed, before moving to rest her hand in between them.

“Look, Mir—“

“No,” Miranda firmly, cutting the reporter off. “You’ve said _more_ than enough, Andrea. You show up, displaying all manner of impertinent behavior by leaping into an elevator—uninvited I might add—make what I’m sure _you_ believe to be a grand apology, and then just expect to walk away? _Again_?” she said, her voice beginning to rise in anger. “Why is it that when it comes to you, I am simply expected to sit back and listen with no opportunity for response? If you’re not leaving notes in hotel rooms, then you’re throwing around words like _impressive_. What exactly is it that you want Andrea?”

“I—“ Andy began, but Miranda was far from finished.

“No, there will be no hiding behind clever turns of phrase today. No, today you will _listen_. Do you have any idea what your little stunt in Paris cost me?” she demanded, her body trembling with rage. “Any idea at all?” she repeated as she glared at the woman sitting across from her.

She was satisfied to see the brunette’s complexion pale.

“No,” she continued, “Of course you don’t. You swan around with your lofty ideals, deeming yourself fit to judge all those around you.”

The reporter looked about ready to protest that accusation, but Miranda beat her to it.

“ _Not everyone?_ ” she hissed, throwing the words back in Andrea’s face. “How _dare_ you.”

Miranda paused to draw breath before continuing. “I shared personal, private information with you after that bastard sent those divorce papers. I told you I would give you everything, and what did you do? You threw it all in my face and you left. There was no explanation, just two suitcases of couture, an empty hotel room and a note. And you’re _sorry?_ You couldn’t even be bothered to give me the respect of resigning in person. Not only are you selfish Andrea, you’re a _coward,_ ” she sneered.

“And look at _Nigel_ now. Look at _you_ now. _You_ , who would never deign to be anything like _me_ have managed to claw your way up to exceptional heights over the last two years, and don’t even begin to try to tell me there weren’t some casualties along the way. How _is_ that Chef of yours? Or is it a Barista now? Is she still waiting for you to come home? Sitting around like a lapdog, awaiting the moment you decide to grace her with your presence once you’ve said your piece to that _awful_ old woman you used to work for and relieved yourself of the burden of any thank yous, apologies or explanations, hmm?”

The girl was staring at her with those huge doe-eyes, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights. She had cut the world out from under the reporter’s feet and it pained her to realize as her anger began to seep away that she was not enjoying it. However, she didn’t have it in her to stop.

“Miranda,” Andrea said shakily, a hint of desperation in her tone.

“No, I’ve heard enough to last a lifetime. I accept neither your explanation, nor your apology. You have your job, be thankful you have that,” she finished, leaning forward to knock on the privacy screen.

As the car came to a halt, Miranda turned her face away from the trembling woman sitting across from her. She ignored the smell of familiar perfume, and the warmth that that familiarity brought back into her life. She ignored the memories of wry smiles, subtle jokes and an easiness she hadn’t experienced in years.

“Get out,” she said bluntly.

She heard the door open and felt the brunette pause, before she apparently thought better of it, simply closing the door behind her.

She could hear her heart still beating in her ears.

The car started moving again.

Roy hadn’t bothered trying to lower the screen. He knew her well enough. 

There was no satisfaction in what she had just done. No satisfaction at all.

* * *

  
Andy stood on the corner on Park and 49th, her hands shaking, and not just from the cold.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.

“Six, where are you?” Nigel said down the line as he picked up.

“I’m outside. The Burberry trench is in coat check, you might want to pick it up before you leave. I’m taking the Subway home.”

“In that dress? Like hell!”

“It’s over Nigel,” she said curtly, before ending the call.


	11. Well It's Alright And It's Coming On

**January 2009**  
**(Months since Paris: 27)**

Andy sat at her desk, spinning her phone around and staring blankly into space.

It had been a week since the New Year and the office was finally starting to settle back into something resembling routine after the holiday season.

Yes, everyone was finally getting back to normal. Everyone but her, apparently.

Her little run in with Miranda had hit her harder than she expected.

The woman was _vicious_.

In all of the scenarios that she had run through her head, Miranda Priestly going nuclear over what happened in Paris two years had not been one of them.

Andy slapped her phone down.

She really needed to stop thinking about this. Miranda had said her piece, she wanted nothing to do with her, and that was that. She didn’t particularly want anything to do with the editor-in-chief either.

There was only one reason she couldn’t stop replaying the conversation over and over and that was her _pride_.

For her whole life, she had always been well liked. She was a hard worker, and she did her best not to stand on anyone’s toes that didn’t deserve it.

She had even managed to win over La Priestly once.

This was the first time she had ever truly burnt a bridge.

And this time the bridge was fucking ash and she didn’t have a shit show in hell of fixing it.

She didn’t like conflict without resolution. When she had walked away in Paris, at least Miranda’s reference had felt like resolution. Proof that the snowy-haired editor didn’t hate her. That maybe she'd understood why she had done what she'd done.

Maybe she had understood, but accepted it? Apparently _not._

No, if New Year’s Eve was anything to go by, Miranda Priestly had been clinging to some fairly choice words about her exit for quite some time.

 _Why would she even care?_ _There were a million other girls lining up to replace me any way._

Andy shook her head and flicked her phone away with the tips of her fingers, turning her attention back to her computer.

Dwelling was a pointless exercise.

It was done.

* * *

 

Nigel stood outside Miranda’s office and watched as she dressed down her second assistant.

As the girl turned and then bolted out the door, brushing past him in the process, he steeled himself and entered the lair, closing the door behind him.

Miranda looked up from a proof and raised an eyebrow at the closed door.

“Did you request a closed door meeting?” she asked. “Because all I have on my schedule is 10 minutes to discuss the combined Hugo Boss re-contract deal, one of which you’ve already wasted.”

“They’re still running the numbers, as we’re in our first year the board are discussing additional finance,” he shrugged.

“As expected. Is that all?” Miranda replied, her attention turning back to whatever was in front of her.

“Look, about the Publishing party, I wanted to apologize. I may have overstepped,” he said.

Nigel watched as her head shot up.

“ _May_ have?” she said.

“Okay, _did_ overstep.”

“Well, it’s done now,” Miranda said, returning her attention back to her work.

_That’s it?_

“If you don’t mind me ask—“

“I mind,” she said, not looking up.

“Okay, I won’t. However, she was there because _she_ called _me_. Not the other way round.”

He watched her pause. It was imperceptible, a simple halt of the pen in her hand but it was there nonetheless.

“As I said, it’s _done_ Nigel. Now if you don’t mind, I have more important things to do than discuss an ex-assistant,” Miranda said abruptly, and he knew better than to push his luck.

“Alright, I’ll be in touch once the board has made their decision. We can discuss the advertising split then.”

“Fine,” she said, waving him out.

* * *

When Miranda was certain Nigel was gone, she tossed her pen down on her desk and sighed.

She could barely muster up the anger she should rightly feel towards Nigel because for the past week she had been feeling nothing but _guilt._  
  
She didn’t _do_ guilt.

However big, glistening, deep-brown eyes were haunting her and she was having issues putting the image into one of the carefully constructed boxes in her mind specifically designed for moments in which she felt it was necessary to verbally eviscerate someone.

If she was to go so far as to question her actions, she might think she had gone one step too far. That the punishment she had doled out wasn’t equivalent to the crime committed.

It had been _two_ years ago. More so. That kind of ire was reserved for immediate responses to inconvenient circumstances, but to hold onto it for _two_ years?

 _More than two_ , she reminded herself.

It was unimaginable. She, Miranda Priestly didn’t hold onto things. She didn’t live in the past. She took swift and decisive action, never questioning, never looking back.

Well, what was she supposed to do about it now? _Apologize?_ _Absolutely not._

She picked up her pen, and focused back on the work in front of her.

No, she would simply forget it ever happened.

She wouldn’t have to worry about crossing paths with the girl now. She was quite positive she had ensured that Andrea would now do just about anything to stay out of her way. If the tearing apart of her character hadn’t done it, she was quite sure the insinuation regarding the safety of her job had.

She should be happy about this.

No more little stunts.

No more __Andrea_. _

Yes, happy.

_Right._

* * *

“You heading home any time soon?” Alice asked as she swung past her desk.

“Huh?” Andy said, looking up from her article.

“I _said_ , it’s late, when are you going home?”

“Later,” she said, waving Alice off, turning back to her screen.

“That’s the third night this week, sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, fine, just busy,” she replied.

“Alright, but you can’t work away your problems Andrea Sachs,” Alice said before Andy felt the red-head move away.

“I’m not _working away my problems_ ,” Andy muttered to herself and she bashed the keyboard a little harder.

She pulled her hands back from the keyboard as she realised what she was doing.

She sighed, and rubbed her face.

She was tired.

Maybe Alice was right.

Maybe it was time to go home.

* * *

 

Andy strolled slowly down the road, her thoughts wandering.

What had become of her life recently?

When had it begun to revolve around Miranda Priestly?

Miranda was fifty…something. She had two kids, three divorces under her belt, was a public figure, the veritable Queen of New York publishing, had more money than Andy could ever hope to dream of earning in her life time, and she what? Cared enough about what happened in Paris that she decided to tear Andy, lowly journalist, apart piece by piece and yet _still_ ensure she had a job.

What did that even mean?

It meant she was _impressive._

Yes, _impressive._

And vicious, terrifying, demanding, controlling, unreasonable, quick-witted, intelligent and _beautiful._

_I enjoyed her company. I sent her a Christmas card. I pursued her to a party I wasn’t even invited to._

_Ah._

_What exactly is it that you want Andrea?_

Andy thought about the woman in the red Valentino, leaning against the railing, her smooth shoulders exposed to cool October air.

She thought about that smile.

What had Emily said?

_Bloody dense._

Right.

Well.

Now what?

Andy stopped and stared up the Elias-Clark building.

It was after 9:00pm on a Thursday.

Miranda’s office looked out over the front entrance of the building and as Andy counted the floors with her eyes, she noted the lights were still on.

She turned to face the entrance.

This was exceptionally stupid.

However, she had never burnt a goddamn bridge in her life and she wasn’t about to start now.

She had survived abandoning her in Paris, hijacking her Starbucks order, sassing her at a party and then leaping into her elevator. She had even managed to walk away from the back of that town car.

One last punch before she threw in the towel.

That was all she needed.

She could let it rest then and get on with her life.

She had to know it was nothing.

One-sided.

A silly little crush on the icon.

On La Priestly.

On the woman who had pushed her. Challenged her. Damn-near killed her.

Not Miranda.

Not the woman.

Not the mother.

No, not Miranda who cried over divorces in grey robes, wore red Valentino’s, and smiled at her. Well, a _little_.

Andy turned on her heel and began marching towards the entrance of the Elias-Clark building.

It was stupid, but to hell with it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something stupid this week.

Someone had once called her tenacious. She supposed right now she was proving them right.

As she entered the building, she bee-lined it towards the security desk and spotted a familiar face.

“Gary,” she said, smiling broadly.

“Andy?” the guard said. “Been a while since we’ve seen you in these parts.”

“It _has_ been a while. How’s the wife? Your daughter must be in high school by now!” Andy rattled off.

“Wife’s good, and yes she is. Handful, I tell you.”

“I have no doubt.”

“How’s Nate?”

“Long gone,” she shrugged.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gary said apologetically.

“Oh no, don’t apologize,” Andy reassured him. “Right thing for both of us. He has a great job in Boston now. We’re both happy.”

“That’s good. Well, what can I do you for?”

“Did Amy leave a visitors pass down here for me?”

She watched as he scanned the list, shaking his head.

“No, I don’t have an appointment for you Andy, sorry.”

“Ah, well, never mind I guess. I’ll see if I can reschedule something with Miranda in a couple of months or so.”

“Miranda?” his head shot up.

“Yeah, she wanted to meet me to discuss a short piece I’m doing,” Andy said, with a shrug.

“Well, I could call up to—“

“No, no. Don’t do that. She _hates_ to be disturbed at this time of the evening. Maybe something came up in her schedule. I’ll call Amy tomorrow. It was really good to see you Gary,” she smiled again, before turning to walk away.

She should feel guilty. She knew she should. But she hadn’t got to where she was without a few tricks up her sleeve.

“Andy!” a voice called and she resisted the urge to smile as she turned back.

“Yeah?”

“I found that appointment, must have missed it,” he said, and she smirked.

As she reached the desk took the pass gratefully and offered Gary a genuine smile.

“Thanks, Gary.”

“Don’t mention it. Now go, before someone notices I let you up.”

She nodded and headed towards the elevator. The foyer was quiet and her footsteps echoed off the marble.

As she entered, she swiped and hit the button for the 13th floor.

She felt surprisingly calm.

Well, I guess things couldn’t possibly go worse than they had on New Year’s Eve, she thought with a smirk. Even that didn’t seem to be bothering her so much in that moment. All it signalled to Andy was that Miranda cared about what happened.

Cared about her leaving.

_Hmm._

As the doors opened, she stepped out into familiar halls.

The lights at the reception desk were out, and it looked like pretty much everyone else had gone home for the night.

She followed a familiar path, one she had walked, run, and stumbled multiple times. She had nearly broken her ankle at least twice attempting to reach Miranda’s desk with a cup of hot Starbucks, or a steak, or samples or any other number of ridiculous things the editor had requested.

_Now Andrea._

Always _now._

Andy smirked.

It was ridiculous. After what happened last week she should be rightfully terrified.

 _Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth_ , she thought as she rounded the corner and stared directly into glass fortress of La Priestly.

She spared a glance at two empty desks before she stared at the woman in her natural element, just as she knew her.

Miranda had her glasses low on her nose, her brow furrowed as she stared at the copy in front of her.

She was deep in concentration and obviously not expecting an interruption.

Andy moved quietly towards her, pausing in the doorway to lean gently against it, her arms crossed, observant.

The editor-in-chief must have sensed a change in the air.

Her head shot up and she stared directly at her, looking legitimately surprised.

“No one saw me,” Andy offered quietly.

“I should hope not.”

“Well, except security, of course,” Andy shrugged.

“And exactly who is it I need to have fired?”

“I’ll take that with me to the grave.”

“Hmm.”

Andy held Miranda’s gaze.

She hadn’t really thought about what she was going to say, expecting it to just simply come to her in the moment.

Thankfully Miranda broke the silence.

“What do you want Andrea?” she sighed, pulling her glasses off and placing them down on her desk.

“You know, someone asked me the same question a week ago and I really didn’t have an answer. Not that I was given an opportunity to speak, mind you.”

“Oh I see. Here on a fishing expedition are you? What would you like? An apology? Well, you’ll be waiting quite some time for that I would imagine,” Miranda bristled as she reached for her desk phone.

“No, that’s not why I came here,” Andy said quickly, satisfied when Miranda’s hand paused.

She was scrambling for something, anything to convey what she needed from Miranda in that moment.

“Have dinner with me,” she blurted.

“What?” Miranda replied. She was staring at her like she had grown a second head.

“Have dinner with me,” Andy repeated, slower this time.

“You can’t be serious,” Miranda said then, slightly aghast.

“Why not?”

“You and me? Dinner? What on Earth would we talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Andy shrugged. “World peace?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But entertaining?” Andy sassed with a smirk.

Miranda rolled her eyes.

Andy took a few steps into the office, approaching Miranda’s desk.

“I’m serious. Have dinner with me. I don’t care when. Tomorrow, next week, next month, just whenever you have time,” she paused. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It could be awful, we may both hate it, but I’d much rather try than, well, _not_ try,” she finished lamely with a wince.

“Still eloquent under pressure I see,” Miranda said with a smirk, her hand safely resting in front of her and far away from the desk phone which was threatening to have Andy thrown from the building.

“That wasn’t a no,” Andy noted.

“It wasn’t a yes, either.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Andy chuckled, before rubbing her head awkwardly. “Well, you look busy, so I should…” she indicated over her shoulders, gesturing towards the exit.

“Yes, that’s probably advisable,” Miranda replied.

“Right,” Andy said, nodding before turning on her heels and moving towards the exit.

She paused when she reached the doorway, and looked back over her shoulder.

“Happy New Year, Miranda,” she said with a gentle smile.

“We’ll see,” Miranda replied.

“You have my number,” Andy called out over her shoulder as she walked away.

* * *

  
Miranda watched as Andrea Sachs slipped from view.

A small smile crept its way onto her lips, and she shook her head.

She reached for her Blackberry and pulled up her email.

She had to give the woman credit. She wasn’t easily deterred. A lesser man—well woman—would have run a mile.

 _Fine. The girls are with their father until next Friday. You know what I like_ , she typed.

She smirked as she hit sent.

Simply because she said yes, didn’t mean she had to make it _easy_ on the woman.


	12. Runway Calling

“No, I don't have any ideas! It’s been more than two years!” Andy cursed down the phone.

“Well, you _would_ poke the dragon with a stick, Six,” Nigel replied bluntly.

Andy growled. It had been over 12 hours since Miranda had dropped her straight into the deep end and she still hadn’t formulated a plan for dinner. “You know how quickly restaurants turn over in this city, I have no idea where the woman eats!”

“Oh Andy, have you really been gone _that_ long?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you seriously think she left this in your hands so you could take her somewhere she _usually_ eats? You used to work for the woman, you know how she thinks.”

“She’s testing me.”

“Of course she is.”

“What the hell was _I_ thinking? I must be insane.”

“You knew her better than she knew herself once. You’ll come up with something.”

Andy groaned, letting her head hit the desk.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I am actually busy. In case you’ve forgotten, I have a magazine to run. I’m not your therapist, your life coach, or your dating advisor for that matter.”

Andy’s head shot up.

“Who said anything about dating?” she demanded.

“Really, Six?” Nigel laughed down the line before ending the call.

"I'm screwed," Andy groaned. 

* * *

Miranda flicked through her emails after lunch and smirked as she noticed the conspicuous absence of a response from one Andrea Sachs.

The woman was good at doing things on a whim, but Miranda was interested to see how she would hold up under the pressure of follow through.

Miranda had _years_ of experience inflicting torment on her victims, and Andrea deserved a little punishment.

“Amy,” she called, “get me Nigel.”

Miranda drummed her fingers on her desk as she waited. Barely a minute had passed before Amy called out. "I have Nigel." 

Miranda leant over to pick up her desk phone.

“Don’t you _dare_ help her,” Miranda said, in lieu of hello.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Nigel said before the Miranda ended the call.

She didn’t bother to question why he obviously knew what she was talking about.

* * *

  
Nigel stared at his phone in wonder even as his assistant Lana strolled into his office without knocking. She  _never_ knocked. 

“Jason Archer has requested a meeting, Testino has confirmed on those dates, and Emily Charlton from Runway called, she said it was urgent but she always sounds a little hysterical so I never know when to take that woman seriously,” Lana said, approaching his desk with a pile of papers, “And you need to sign off on these budgets for the upcoming shoot before I send them up.”

Nigel’s eyes snapped up and he found Lana staring at him.

“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head in concern.

“Yeah,” he replied, glancing at the phone again. “Just a strange day. A very strange day.”

“I’ll get you some rehydration sachets, you look a bit zoned,” she said, before turning on her heel. “Oh, and finance needs those by 3:00pm,” she said, waving at the papers on his desk before exiting.

Lana was sassy and she didn’t take any shit. She was a bit presumptuous at times, but Nigel liked her and had no intention of reigning her in.

He reached over and grabbed his phone, calling Emily.

“What is it?” he asked down the line.

“There’s a rumour that Andrea was here last night. In Miranda’s office. Late.”

“Shut it down,” Nigel ordered.

“Already done,” she replied. “Is there anything I should know?”

“Nothing,  _yet_ ,” he said.

“I get the distinct feeling I’m going to want to claw my eyes out before too long.”

“Where’s your sense of romance?”

“I prefer my May-June to my May-December,” she replied honestly.

“Have a heart.”

“I will when I’m certain they’re not going to kill each other. Do you honestly think Andrea’s cut out for this? For _her_?”

“She’s tougher than she looks.”

“I bloody-well-hope so,” Emily said.

“Since when do you care so much about what happens to the ‘talentless fat cow’”?

“I never said I did. I’m only thinking about what I’ll have to put up with _here_ if this all heads south,” Emily sniffed.

“Someone’s got a soft spot,” Nigel chuckled.

“Oh piss off!" 

Nigel laughed as he heard Emily's office door open, voice filtering down the line. 

“Bollocks,” Emily swore. “Must dash—talk soon.”

The line went dead. 

Nigel shrugged hung up the phone and sat back in his chair, his face thoughtful.

If little Andy Sachs was going to have an ally in her camp she could certainly do a lot worse than Emily. 

* * *

 

“How about Masa? You must still have contacts you can sweet talk,” Alice suggested and Andy groaned.

There were too many people involved in this already, it was getting out of control. 

“It’s too public, and hardly original. Not to mention it's out of my budget,” Andy said.

“Well, I can ask Liam, he’s al—“

“No!”

“What?”

“Alice, I wasn’t kidding. Don’t breathe a word of this. To _anyone_.”

“You’re having dinner with your ex-boss who happens to be, what? 25 years older than you? No offence, but you two in public? I hardly think anyone is going to jump to any conclusions. I doubt anyone except the staff at Runway know you worked there, and that lot are going to be so bogged down in confidentiality agreements it wouldn’t be worth their lives or their careers to get on the wrong side of La Priestly and some highly paid lawyers.”

“26,” Andy muttered.

“What?”

“I said 26. Miranda is 26 years older than me.”

“You’ve been counting? Is this going to be a problem for you?”

“Well, no. I mean it’s not like we’re da—“

“Andy, honestly. Would you just admit exactly what this is? Because you’re driving me crazy. You like her, just admit it. You broke it off with your girlfriend after meeting the woman at a party for 10 minutes. You’ve got it so bad they can see it from the International-fucking-Space-Station. This is a date. Deal with it.”

“I highly doubt Miran—“

“Andy,” Alice growled.

“Fine, whatever. So what if it _is_ a date. That doesn’t exactly make this any easier."

“What’s your favourite restaurant?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I like pub food and craft beer,” Andy replied, wrinkling her nose at the thought of Miranda’s face if she dragged her down to her Lower East Side local.

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly her scene.”

“How do you know? Stop trying so hard. You said this was a test, but you don’t even know what she’s testing. Maybe she just wants to see if you’re going to attempt to be a pretentious asshole, when she knows you’re not.”

“You think she wants to see poor mid-twenties reporter chic? Or homegrown Midwestern girl and her hearty appetite? She did just about everything in her power to strip that out of me when I worked for her.”

"And did it work?" 

"Well, no, I don't--" 

"My God, you need to take a step back from this. Let's go for a drink, I don't think I can handle any more of your insanity while sober." 

Andy looked at her watch. “Alice, its only 4:00pm.”

“I thought you already submitted.”

“I did.”

“Well, then what’s your problem?”

“I don’t think I can pin down just _one_ right now,” Andy said, giving Alice a pointed look.

“Oh give it up Sachs, I'm immune to you. Now come on,” Alice ordered.

* * *

 

“You know what, you’re right,” Andy declared after three wines and a shot of tequila.

“Of course I am, now hurry up and send her that bloody email before she thinks you chickened out.”

Andy pulled out her Blackberry, opened Miranda’s email and hit reply.

 _In front of Elias-Clark building. Wednesday evening, 8:00pm_ , she typed before hitting send and dropping her phone on the bar triumphantly.

“Now all you have to do is _choose_ something low key, not pretentious, but not too not-pretentious, with a decent wine and beer list, that falls within your price range, enables you to have at least modicum of privacy, and that you can secure a reservation for. I mean its New York City, how hard can that be?” Alice snorted.

“Another round?” Andy said.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Alice grinned.

* * *

 

  
Miranda sat at the dining room table, a glass of wine clasped in her left hand and a copy of the New Yorker under her right.

She flicked through absently.

The girls were away and the house was conspicuously quiet.

Ex-husband number one was back in New York on business for January and she had acquiesced to handing the girls over for the New Year and the two weeks that followed under the proviso that it wouldn't interfere with their schooling.

It had provided her with the opportunity to get ahead on a few things before the New Year truly began, and she had been at the office late every night. 

Until tonight. 

She was now being reminded why she usually chose the office. 

 

A quiet house meant too much time to think. She had adjusted her life to spend more time with the girls, and when they weren’t around she couldn’t for the life of her remember how she filled the time. There were plenty of other things she could, or should be doing, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to do them tonight.

The silence was _distracting_.

She slapped the magazine closed, and finished her wine.

It was ridiculous, she thought as she stood and moved to the sink to rinse her glass.

She spent her days complaining about never having enough time, and now she had some and it seemed to have brought her to a standstill.

She was lamenting being _bored_ like some undisciplined twenty-year-old.

There was a list a mile long of things that needed to be done, and she really did need to ge—

Her thoughts came to a grinding halt as her Blackberry vibrated. She moved to swipe it up. She had had set the thing so it would only vibrate when she received something in her personal email, as opposed to her work.

She smirked as she saw the name, and opened the message.

Then pursed her lips.

Maybe leaving this in Andrea’s hands wasn’t the best idea after all.

Sure, she had achieved close to 24 hours of making the girl squirm, but now she had absolutely no idea what she was heading into.

She drummed her fingers on the counter, pondering whether or not to respond. If she asked for details she’d be giving the woman the upper hand. Andrea would see straight through it. The woman may have been an idiot, but she wasn’t unintelligent.

Well, she only had herself to blame she supposed.

She looked at the screen before smiling a little to herself. She could still have a little fun.

 _I sincerely hope this lack of detail is not simply a way to bide time._  
_Don’t disappoint me Andrea._  
_I will see you Wednesday._  
_M._

* * *

 “Fuck,” Andy groaned, and Alice patted her on the back as she signalled for a another round. 

* * *

  
Regardless of what Andrea had organised, Runway, it seemed, had other plans.

It was 6:45pm the following Wednesday and Miranda was struggling to keep a handle on her anger. It had been 4 hours and the memory cards from the Dermachelier shoot were _still_ unaccounted for.

“Amy,” Miranda said dangerously, and the brunette popped through her door, a phone glued to her ear.

“They’re trying Miranda, I’m _so_ sorry,” she said, knowingly.

“Well whoever is _trying_ better be prepared to stand in this office tomorrow and explain why I need to do an emergency re-shoot and how they’re prepared to fund the $420,000 that they have just cost the company,” she snapped.

Amy scurried out of her sight and she sighed.

 _Of all the days,_ she thought. There was absolutely no way she could leave right now.

She looked down at her phone in dread.

She had been putting it off in vain hope, however it was far past time to let the brunette know in case she had something ridiculous and elaborate planned in an attempt to take her off guard.

Miranda found herself feeling extremely disappointed as she picked up and dialled.

“Miranda?” Andrea answered, puzzled.

“Andrea,” she said.

“Ah,” came the knowing response down the line.

Miranda was silent, she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Well, I did decide to attempt to take Miranda Priestly out on a school night,” the reporter chuckled.

“I can’t leave,” Miranda explained.

“It’s alright, we’ll reschedule.”

“Yes, we’ll have to.”

“Just let me know what’s suitable when you have the time.”

“I will,” Miranda paused, “Andrea, I—“

“No explanations needed,” the brunette said chirpily down the line. “I’ll see you soon, and I hope whatever it is gets resolved soon.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said genuinely before ending the call.

“Amy,” she barked.

Heads were going to roll.

* * *

 

“Change of plan,” Andy said down the line as Roy picked up.

“I had a feeling. Amy called to say she was going to be late. I’m sorry Andy,” Roy replied.

“It’s fine. Do you mind swinging by to pick me up anyway?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Something simple. Which is what I should have stuck with in the first place. This isn’t putting you in an awkward situation is it?”

“Don’t worry about me Miss Sachs. The Dragon and I have our own understanding.”

“Okay, give me 20 minutes and then we have some jobs to do.”

“Just be aware I might have to throw you out if I’m needed.”

“Fine, just don’t leave me stranded next to a crack den.”

“Wouldn’t be worth my life Miss Sachs.”

Andy chuckled, “I’ll see you soon.”

She eyed the dress she had on in the mirror. She hadn’t over done it. It was a simple black LBD from Narciso Rodriguez. The back was detailed with a thick banded criss-cross which prevented it from being too plain, and she had paired it with a pair of classic red-souled Louboutin’s.

Emily had passed it her way after the red-head had called and known instantly that something was amiss. Andy had the distinct impression that the compartmentalization of information between Nigel and Emily was non-existent.

She was subsequently given stern instructions that she wasn’t to dare show up in Miranda’s presence wearing anything that could be ‘bought on the high street for less than fifty quid’ which pretty much wiped out Andy’s entire wardrobe minus a few leftovers from Runway, which include the Christian Lou’s.

Andy had ignored the niggling thought that, should this go well, she wasn’t going to have the means available to keep a wardrobe fit for spending time with Miranda.

She couldn’t sponge favours from Nigel and Emily forever.

Andy stared at the dress in the mirror and sighed.

“Something simple,” she muttered, and proceeded to strip off the dress.

She grabbed her skin tight, black True Religion jeans and paired them with a simple white blouse. She left the Christian Lou’s where they were.

She fluffed her bangs out and then picked up her phone, calling to cancel the reservation she had made.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she smiled.

This was a woman who was familiar to her.

She didn’t need to spend a fortune to look polished. Her hair and make-up were flawless.

“This is Andrea Sachs calling. I’d like to cancel my reservation for 8:30pm,” she said as she gave herself one final glance over and nodded, heading towards the door, and plucking up the Burberry trench Nigel had gifted her as she went.

* * *

  
Miranda looked down at her watch as she descended the elevator.

9:30pm.

She was in a foul mood.

Tonight was supposed to bring her some kind of revelation about exactly _what_ Andrea Sachs thought she was doing, swanning back into her life.

Instead she was going home, alone, to stew over the incompetence of every single one of her employees, and Demarchelier’s for that matter.

It was one of his dim-witted lighting techs who picked up the wrong bag of equipment and decided to disappear off the radar for the entire evening following the shoot. Not to mention, no one in the photographer’s team was willing to admit that the cards were still _in_ the cameras that had been uplifted, even though Patrick had strict policies in place which required all shots to be uploaded to secure servers immediately.

Over all it was a complete and utter fiasco which had caused a lot of unnecessary stress for both teams.

Not to mention _ruined_ her entire evening.

As the doors opened she stormed across the foyer, her heels clipping violently on the marble.

“Good evening, Miranda,” one of the security guards noted in passing.

She nodded in acknowledgement before strolling out into the chill January air.

Thankfully Roy was ready and waiting for her. All she wanted to do was go home.

As she approached the car, she stalled momentarily.

Something was off.

Roy looked _nervous._

And _guilty._

She slowed her approach, and as he opened the door she stared directly at him, raising an eyebrow. “What have you done?”

“Well I—“ he began, before another voice interjected.

“I’ll take responsibility for this one,” a distinctly feminine voice chimed from the backseat of her car.

“Who else?” Miranda muttered to no one before glaring at Roy in accusation.

“We’ll discuss this later,” she said, her voice dangerously low as she turned and slid into the car, the door closing behind her.

Miranda turned her focus to the woman already in her car.  
  
“Andrea,” she said.

“Miranda,” the brunette nodded in response, a touch guilt in her otherwise self-satisfied expression.

“You have your coat back I see,” Miranda noted, eyeing her trench.

“Yes, well, it was little cold in here last time, so I thought I better come prepared,” Andrea laughed.

“Quite the comedienne aren’t we?”

“I do try.”

“And just exactly what did you bribe Roy with this time? I barely saved him from the clutches of diabetes after the last time you left,” Miranda drawled.

“That’s between Roy and me,” Andrea said as she reached over and grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir from her bag and two glasses.

Miranda found herself silent as she watched the younger woman make quick work of opening the bottle, lifting the cork swiftly out and moving to pour two glasses.

Andrea glanced up and caught her gaze.

“I was quite the waitress once upon a time,” she smirked.

“I have no doubt,” Miranda said, “Although you really should let that breathe.”

“You are more than welcome to let yours breathe _in_ the glass,” the brunette said with a smirk as she held out her offering.

Miranda eyed Andrea carefully as she reached to accept the proffered glass.

“I’m sorry for bribing your driver and hijacking your car,” Andrea said, as she lifted the Pinot to her lips in an attempt to hide her obvious grin.

Miranda rolled her eyes, “You are aware that apologies are more effective if you look like you mean them, Andrea.”

“You may have a point there.”

“Yes, but what is _your_ point?” she said, waving her arm around, indicating to the inside of the vehicle.

“Oh, no point really. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“You _created_ an opportunity and roped my driver into your scheme,” Miranda corrected.

“That’s probably more accurate, yes,” she smiled.

Miranda lowered her glass, “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“I’m sorry?” Miranda sputtered in disbelief.

“Sorry, let me rephrase that. _You_ are going to _your_ home. I took the liberty of ordering dinner for you, it will arrive at 10:00pm. I give you full permission to complain about my choice at your leisure,” Andrea chuckled.

“You ordered dinner?” Miranda said.

“Yes, because I _know_ you haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“You _know_?”

“I worked for you for almost a year Miranda,” the brunette replied an eye roll.

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in the back seat of my town car.”

“I just wanted to share a glass of wine with you on your way home. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Mm hmm.”

Miranda stared at the woman, baffled. Just when she thought she had Andrea Sachs figured out, something else seem to come out of left field.

“Stop overthinking it, just relax. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Although, I did ask Roy to take a detour,” Andrea grinned.

“I think I liked you better when you were terrified of me,” Miranda noted.

“I was never terrified of you.”

Miranda scoffed.

“In awe maybe, with a healthy dose of fear for my employment, and of disappointing you,” the brunette explained, “But terrified? Never.”

She could see the honesty in those eyes, and she turned away.

There had been a lot of honesty between them in the back of town cars. Perhaps that was why Andrea had chosen this venue in the end.

It was quiet as they both sipped on their wine.

It wasn’t uncomfortable however. They had sat like this many times before, and Miranda was being reminded just how much she missed the woman’s calming presence.

There was never a hidden agenda with this girl.

However, there was still one thing she needed to know. It had been eating her alive for over two years.

She turned and Andrea met her eyes.

“I said a great number of things last week" she admitted, begrudgingly.

"Well, you had a right to. I could have handled Paris better. A lot better," Andrea confessed.

"You had your reasons, I'm sure," Miranda said. "However, I have something I wish to ask you, and I request that you indulge me without judgement," Miranda said.

Andrea sat up a little straighter, her expression serious, "Of course."

"I want to know, was I really such a horrible person to you in that moment that you couldn’t bear the thought that perhaps we shared something in common?” she asked directly.

Andrea looked puzzled for a moment, before it apparently all clicked into place.

She watched as the brunette shook her head firmly.

“A horrible person? Never. Someone who sacrificed absolutely _everything_ for her career? Yes,” Andrea said. “I wasn’t ready to see myself as that person.”

“I have admittedly sacrificed a number of things over the years,” Miranda began, “But certainly not _everything._ ”

“Oh I know that, _now_ ,” Andrea said, her hand moving to rest on the seat in between them. “I was young, foolish, idealistic and extremely short-sighted. I wasn’t ready to let go of the things it turned out I had already lost. I won’t say that I agree with all of your actions, but I respect your decisions. I respect _you_ ,” she paused. “But that doesn’t mean I regret leaving, Miranda. My method? Sure. But leaving? No. I may have hated you, viscerally in fact, for a time. But more because you forced me to face a truth I wasn't ready to accept, not because I thought you were a horrible person. I always did _hate_ being wrong,” Andrea finished with a small smile.

Miranda regarded the reporter carefully. The woman was all sharp eyes and quick wit now, but a hint of that vulnerable, stubborn girl who had stood in her office practically demanding a job was still there. She had changed, yes, but one thing that had stayed sure was her honesty. Of that she had no doubt.

She nodded. There was more behind the words, things she wasn’t aware of, things she was sure had something to do with the _chef_ , but she had the words she needed. She felt like someone had just kicked down a wall between herself and the other woman.

Satisfied with this development, she decided it was time to lighten the mood.

“Speaking of your _method,”_ Miranda drawled, as the edge of her lips quirked. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Andrea asked, bewildered by the sudden change in mood.

“Is it true that you deposited your work phone in Les fontaines de la Concorde?” Miranda said, her brow raised in question.

“Well _deposited_ might be a little polite…” Andrea admitted, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks.

And at that Miranda laughed.


	13. Riding in Cars With...Miranda

Andy raised a questioning brow when she spotted Roy standing on the curb, next to the town car, only a few metres away from her office.

“Boss’s orders,” he shrugged, opening the door.

Andy looked down and thanked all of the deities she knew that she had had an offsite interview that day. She had at least put _some_ effort into her outfit this morning.

As she slid into the back of the car, she noted it was empty. Roy got in, and she raised her eyebrow in question. “Do I dare ask?”

“She had a plan, but she was running late. So now, _this_ is the plan.”

“You kidnap me and hide the body?” Andy asked.

“We drive around in circles until she’s finished,” Roy said.

“And the official line was?”

“Traffic,” Roy chuckled.

“But you're here. How would traffic make her late?”

“She was pressed for time. I do believe the exact words barked down the phone were: 'Oh, I don't knowーtrafficーcome up with something!' and then click," Roy laughed.

Andy shook her head, "That sounds about right."

“Humour her, for my sake,” Roy asked.

“Oh don’t worry, I will.”

“ _Andy_ ,” Roy said in warning.

Andy chuckled. “Well, if she's ‘stuck in traffic,’ with her imaginary second driver, do you think we have time to pick up a bottle of wine? It’s a Friday, I would appreciate a drink.”

“Can’t see why not,” Roy said.

* * *

 

“Wine?” Miranda said in question as she entered the car and was handed a glass.

“Well, it is a Friday after all,” Andy said with a shrug, taking a sip.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Miranda said, swirling her glass. “Do you have an endless supply ready in that bag of yours, or should I simply not ask?” she said, raising her eyebrow and eyeing Roy accusingly.

“Always come prepared,” Andy shot back with a smirk.

Miranda rolled her eyes before turning back to her wine, taking a sip. “Hmm, tolerable,” she said, as Andy chuckled.

“I’m glad you approve.”

Miranda rolled her eyes before turning to face her fully. She paused for a moment, twirling her glass before speaking. “Thank you, Andrea,” she said said simply.

Andy resisted the urge to smile too smugly. It would appear that she hadn't completely overstepped with her dinner selection. However, she wasn't about to let Miranda off the hook  _that_ easily. “For what?” she replied innocently. _Might as well milk it._

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “For the Moroccan," she gritted out. "I was pleasantly surprised to still be alive the following day, given that the boy who delivered it appeared to be a victim of child slavery. I wasn’t aware it was legal for 10-year-olds to work.”

“He’s 16, just a little short for his age,” Andy smirked. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I said I was pleasantly surprised to still be alive, I never said I _enjoyed_ it.”

Andy chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “How was your day?” she asked, changing tact.

“Unexpectedly good. I do believe everyone is on their best behaviour following Wednesday’s debacle. We’ve managed to make up the time lost, so I won’t be required to work over the weekend,” Miranda replied.

“The girls are back tonight, right?” Andy said.

“Around 8:00pm. I had some time to…” she said, trailing off and indicating to their surroundings.

Andy smiled genuinely at that, “Thank you, Miranda.”

A pleasant silence filled the vehicle.

It was… _nice._

* * *

 

“Just because your job is turning you into an alcoholic doesn’t mean you’re required to take me down with you,” Miranda noted as she gently inhaled the scent of the Malbec in her hand.

“Just try it. You enjoyed the last one,” Andy said. “How was work?”

“Appalling,” Miranda sniffed, as she lifted the glass to her lips.

“Well you can take comfort in the fact you’re not alone today,” Andy said as she leant back into the leather seat and turned her head to face Miranda.

“Oh, and what it is happening in the world of New York politics, hmm?”

“Paterson has everyone wound up following that State of the State address. I do believe it was ‘the pillars of Wall Street have crumbled’ line that really did it. I now have to work with the guys from Business because recession pieces are all the rage. Not to mention _everyone_ is locking down. I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone right now.”

“Since when did politicians _ever_ give straight answers, Andrea?”

“Now _that_ , is a valid point,” Andy replied, raising her glass in toast.

Miranda touched her glass to Andy's lightly.

“So, what happened in the hallowed halls of Runway today?” Andy said. 

“Archer cut my budget,” Miranda said brusquely.

“Well, didn’t you hear? ‘The global economy is _reeling_ , Miranda,’” Andy sassed.

“Yes, well I really wish it would hurry up and get it over with.”

“Amen to that,” Andy said, taking another sip.

* * *

 

“She nearly broke her ankle,” Miranda bristled.

It was a Wednesday, and two weeks to the day since their failed date. Although failure may not be the right word, seeing as somehow Andy had seen Miranda more times in the past two weeks than she had in all the time since she had quit her job. 

“It’s soccer, Miranda. These things happen," Andy said. 

“I don’t understand why they couldn’t have chosen something less…”

“Sporty?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“It was what you were thinking though. Just be thankful it’s not Lacrosse.”

Miranda shuddered.

“My mother broke her jaw playing tennis,” Andy said.

“How on _Earth_ did she manage that!?”

“Clumsy pairs partner,” Andy shrugged. “Sometimes you just can't avoid these things, even in the safest of sports.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Miranda said, waving her off, “I’m aware I’m being over protective.”

“You’re a mother, I’ve heard it comes with the territory,” Andy shrugged.           

“That is does,” Miranda mused, as the car slid gently to a halt.

Andy glanced up, surprised.

“Distracted, Andrea?” Miranda smirked at her.

“Evidently,” she replied, reaching for Miranda’s empty glass.

“Thank you,” Miranda said as the door opened behind her. “I’ll be out for the remainder of the week, but how is next Monday for you?”

“No good, I’m in late. Tuesday?”

“Tuesday should be fine,” Miranda replied, “Although it’ll be after seven.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Miranda nodded and paused, looking at her closely. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something but then changed her mind. “Well, have a good evening, Andrea,” she said finally.

“You too, Miranda,” she replied as Miranda exited the vehicle and Roy closed the door behind her.

As the driver got back in the car, he looked back over the seat. “Home?”

“Yeah, Roy. Home.”

* * *

 

“What’s going on with Miranda?” Kristen asked Amy as she leant against her desk, blowing absentmindedly on a cup of peppermint tea.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amy said, ignoring her as she continued to type up an email to the McQueen reps who were due to meet with Miranda in London.

“Amy, you’re a terrible liar. Spill,” she ordered.

“Andy, and that’s all I’m saying,” she said under her breath, as she watched Jane’s ears perk up.

“Jocelyn saw her come into the building a couple of weeks ago. I wondered what was going on,” Kristen said quietly.

“Jane, can you go to Accessories and check whether or not the pieces from ‘To the Max’ have arrived yet?” Amy asked in a tone that brokered no argument.  
  
The second assistant bristled before storming off.  
  
“God she’s useless,” Amy growled before Kristen raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, you did just send her unnecessarily to Accessories while I, employee of said department, was standing right here,” Kristen noted wryly. “Don’t turn into the new Emily in my absence.”

“What? Oh I am not!” Amy protested, looking suitably chastised before returning to the matter at hand. “Look, if there is any gossip, shut it down, please?” she pleaded.

“Oh look at you, you hopeless romantic,” Kristen teased.

“Shut up. It’s sweet, and she’s happy. Well, Miranda’s version of happy. Which means mildly less demanding than usual,” Amy said wryly.

“You don’t need to worry, Emily was all over it when it first hit, and I haven’t heard anything about it since. But, if you think this is going to escalate, you need to approach her about consulting PR. The woman is in constant denial where Andrea Sachs is concerned.”  
  
Amy looked at Kristen like she had grown a second head.  
  
"Are you _insane!?_ "

"You need to stop being so scared of her,” Kristen said seriously.  
  
"This is her _private life_ ," Amy hissed, "What am I supposed to say? Oh, hey, Miranda, everyone in the office thinks you’re banging your ex-assistant so I think maybe we should call Leslie and get her to cushion the “Dragon Eats Young Lamb” headlines that are bound to come out?”

Kristen stared at her, a twinge of horror in her usual wry, deadpan expression when the word _eat_ surfaced.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean—“ Amy began.

“Just stop talking, _please_ ,” the blonde pleaded. "Look, mention it in passing. You've worked for her for long enough," Kristen continued before pausing and getting up off the edge of Amy's desk. "Also, if you stop picking on Jane and actually train her then you might be out of this office before it even hits page 6," the blonde said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly before swanning off.

“Easy for you say,” Amy grumbled before turning back to her email.

* * *

  
  
“I don’t agree,” Miranda said then, raising her eyebrow.

“Of course you don’t, you’re big business Miranda,” Andy said as she sipped her wine.

“Well, what did Guizot say? Not to be a republican at 20 is proof of want of heart; to be one at 30 is proof of want of head?”

Andy nearly spat her wine all over the back of the driver's seat. “Republican!? You're a republican!?"

“Oh of course not Andrea, François Guizot was French. I hardly think he was advocating for the picketing of abortion clinics back in the nineteenth century. I was simply referring to our differing perspectives on the taxation issue," Miranda said in mild amusement. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack," Andy said, "And I thought that quote was from Churchill?”

“No, I think you’re thinking of the bastardized version of the quote, which has been attributed _incorrectly_ to Churchill, I might add.”

“If you’re not a liberal at twenty you have no heart, if you’re not a conservative at forty you have no head?” Andy cited from memory. 

“Yes, that’s it I believe.”

“Appropriate I suppose, however I’m not 20.”

“Near enough,” Miranda said with a smirk.

“Hey!”

“Enough about age, I’d much prefer this didn’t stray into _that_ territory.”

“You’re only as old as the woman you’re feeling,” Andy sassed.

Miranda’s eyebrow shot up.

“That sounded a lot better in my head than it did coming out of my mouth…” Andy winced.

“I’m sure it did,” Miranda said, shaking her head, although she was unable to hide the amusement in her features, Andy noted.

Andy laughed in response, and Miranda rolled her eyes.

This had become easy, this _thing_ that they did. Whatever it was.

It had been three weeks since Andy had called Roy and commandeered the town car, and somehow it had slipped into something regular and convenient for them both.

She still hadn’t bothered to question Miranda on her motives. It seemed to make whatever this was _easier_ if they avoided talking about exactly _what_ this was.

The town car was neutral, safe and familiar.

The town car was _enjoyable._

“You must have an accomplice,” Miranda said suddenly, eyeing her glass with interest.

“I’m sorry?” Andy said.

“You can’t truly expect me to believe that you’re wine connoisseur as well as a comedienne and bumbling idiot Andrea.”

“That’s offensive!” Andy protested lightly with a smirk, her eyes glancing involuntarily towards the front seat.

Miranda stared at her, “Hmm, perhaps _you_ should be paying Roy, not me.”

“Don’t involve me in this,” Roy protested.

“You involved yourself,” Miranda said, “I don’t for one minute think I’ve forgotten.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Roy said. “We’re almost there, I’ll give you a few minutes,” he finished before putting up the privacy screen.

“What have you done to my driver?” Miranda asked with a glare.

“Maybe you should be nicer to him,” Andy sassed with a smirk.

Miranda looked at her then and sighed.

“That looks awfully serious,” Andy said, tilting her head in question.

“We’re going to have stop this,” Miranda said, waving her hands between them, “For the time being.”

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you to bring that up,” Andy shrugged. “When are you leaving for London?”

“As soon as New York is finished, and then it’ll be Milan and Paris,” Miranda said, taking a sip of her wine and looking away.

“I know what your job entails Miranda, you don’t have to feel guilty.”

“Who said anything about _guilt_?” Miranda said, her eyes snapping back to glare at her.

Andy raised her brow, but as the car slowed to a halt, she thought better of baiting the woman. This would be the last time she saw her for a month at least.

The idea of it made her feel a little bereft. Riding in town cars with Miranda had somehow become a part of her routine at least 3 times a week. Sometimes more.

“I’ve really enjoyed these past couple of weeks or so,” Andy said seriously, looking the editor-in-chief in the eye.

Miranda face relaxed and she paused to regard her, before nodding.

“Look, I don’t—well—I have no idea what I’m doing to be honest with you,” Andy said.

Miranda twirled her wine glass absently, “I beg to differ.”

“You do?”

“Aside from being unbelievably presumptuous with consuming liquids in my car, this has been…agreeable.”

“Agreeable? _That’s_ what you’re going with!?”

“What did you want me to do Andrea? Jump through flaming hoops and proclaim how much of an achievement it was that you could manage to hold a conversation for 15 minutes at a time?” Miranda said, the hint of a smile dancing around her lips as she finished her wine.

“You’re unbelievable,”

“That I am,” Miranda sassed then, handing her the glass and turning to open the door.

“Miranda, wait,” Andy said, reaching out and clasping the snowy-haired woman’s wrist gently.

Miranda glanced down at her wrist, and then up at Andy, a questioning look in her eye.

 _Shit_.

_Oh to hell with it._

“What is this?” Andy asked bluntly.

“What do you want it to be, Andrea?” Miranda replied, her eyes challenging.

“I don’t know what I want it to be per se, but I certainly know what I want to _do_ ,” she said, her voice lowering a touch.

“And what would that be, exactly?” Miranda asked, brow raised in question.

Andy turned the wrist in her hand, before sliding her hand further up the editor’s arm to grasp gently at her bicep, leaning into Miranda’s space.

Her heart was thundering in her ears.

It was a bold move, and the editor’s muscle flexed under her hand.

She halted her advance, eyeing Miranda questioningly.

The snowy-haired editor-in-chief simply watched her, giving nothing away.

_Fuck it._

Andy slid her hand up and across Miranda’s shoulder slowly, before moving to grab her gently behind the neck and tug her forward.

She couldn’t remember a time in recent memory she had been this terrified.

She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She was waiting for a slap.

For outrage.

It didn’t come.

Miranda was inches from her and she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m going to apologize in advance this time,” Andy said, her voice barely audible.

“What fo—“

Miranda didn’t have the chance to finish that sentence as Andy closed the remaining distance, her lips touching the editors, gentle only for a moment as the editor-in-chief deepened the kiss almost immediately.

Andy found herself pulled closer by the collar of her shirt and she moaned lightly into Miranda’s mouth.

The snowy-haired editor pulled back, her nostrils flaring slightly as her hand moved to touch her lips before clearing her throat and moving her hand to rest over her chest and take a deep breath.

Andy let her hand drop from Miranda's neck and watched her, in absolute awe. “Shit,” she said, shakily.

“Eloquent,” Miranda smirked, rolling her eyes.

She moved her hand to touch Miranda’s face, but the editor intercepted it halfway.

“The girls are home,” she said, almost apologetically. _Almost._

Andy shook her head. “Of course—I— _wow_ ,” she stammered.

Miranda chuckled, before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you when I get back,” she whispered, before she exited the car swiftly without looking back.

As the door closed, Andy fell back into the seat before grinning like an idiot.

“Is it safe now?” a voice crackled through the intercom.

“Far from it,” she muttered to herself.


	14. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder?

**February 2009  
(Months since Paris: 28)**

As Miranda watched the combined Dávila, Hoffman and Nicholas K collection glide down the runway, she resisted the urge to sigh. She applauded the ingenuity of the designers with their move towards recession friendly; but with Vera Wang opting for mannequins instead of a runway show, and Karen Walker with those reversible blazers, she couldn’t help but long for the good old days.

Recessions were depressing.

Recessions meant ‘New York Fashion Week’ was now ‘Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week’.

Recessions meant her favourite time of year was feeling muted, and unable to distract her from wanting to ghost her fingertips across her lips, where something decidedly _un_ -muted had touched them only a few scant days before.

Miranda threaded her fingers together and rested her palms in her lap, in a pose she hoped appeared relaxed and neutral.

This was absolute madness. How on Earth had this escalated? She couldn’t believe herself. A few shared conversations in the back of her town car and suddenly she was allowing Andrea to…

As applause broke out for the designers, she followed suit, thankful she had her sunglasses firmly in place today. It wouldn’t do to have anyone suspecting her mind was elsewhere. The collection had been admirable, if a little dull. This economic crisis seemed to have stripped the colour out of the world. Even she was having to have her accountants go over everything with a fine tooth comb and start culling unnecessary expenses.

Yes, although she hoped this recession would be short-lived, the realist in her was aware that some changes were going to have to be made across the board if Runway was expected to stay ahead of the game.

As the designers came out on stage, Mara caught her eye and she gave a barely perceptible nod of approval. Hoffman house would continue to feature steadily, God knows the world needed a little colour right now.

As they began to file out, Miranda pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her text messages. She resisted the urge to smile when she saw Andrea’s name at the top.

 _You look good ;-)_ , the message read. Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she hit reply.

 _Emoji’s Andréa? Really?_ She responded. Andrea must have seen a live feed of the show. It was a stark reminder of just how much public scrutiny she would have to endure for the next four weeks or so. Another reason she had to ensure she stayed well clear of the brunette for the time being.

 _How on Earth did you manage to find diacritical marks on your phone?_ Andrea sent back.

 _I have many skills,_ Miranda replied with a smirk.

 _Did you copy and paste it from Google?_ Andrea sassed.

 _Don’t be absurd,_ Miranda shot back immediately. She followed up with another message before the brunette had a chance to reply. _Shouldn’t you be working?_

 _I am typing one handed as we speak_ , Andrea replied.

 _Get back to work Andréa_ , Miranda sent as Amy approached her.

 _Yes, Miranda_ , came the response. The editor-in-chief didn’t need to see the woman’s face to see the sass behind that remark.

Miranda locked her phone and slid it back into her pocket, feeling much lighter.

* * *

 

Caroline stood at the base of the stairs, eyeing her suitcases by the door. As Miranda descended the stairs, pulling a scarf around her neck, she eyed the eldest of the twins, still in her pajamas, bed head evident in the back.

As she reached the base of the stairs, she placed a comforting hand on her daughters shoulder. “It’s only three weeks, Bobbsey,” she said gently.

Her daughter looked up at her, her face betraying only a hint of emotion. Miranda was taken aback by how much her girls had grown. They would be fourteen in April, and there were days she found herself wondering when on Earth that had happened. Two years ago there would have been exceptional tantrums, days of silent treatment and various other methods of emotional blackmail employed around this time of year. Yet now, Caroline simply looked up at her and nodded stoically.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” Caroline said.

“I wondered where you were, I just looked in on your sister,” Miranda said gently.

“I wanted to be _awake_ , to say goodbye,” Caroline reiterated.

Miranda smiled. “Yes, well, your sister does sleep like the dead,” she said as she crouched to embrace her daughter. “Take care, be good for Cara, and your father; and remember you can call me at any time, day or night,” Miranda finished, satisfied when she felt the nod in the crook of her neck.

“Have a good trip,” Caroline said as she straightened up.

“I will,” Miranda replied as she gave her daughter shoulder another light squeeze, before heading to the door. As she opened it, Amy was ready and waiting, phone in hand, firing off various emails at a rapid pace.

The petite brunette looked up at her and nodded as they crossed paths, Miranda leaving the house and Amy entering.

Once Roy had her securely in the vehicle, he moved to assist the brunette with her cases and Miranda couldn’t help but stare out of the window at the small red-head still standing in the foyer behind the bustle of activity. _It never gets any easier_ , she thought.

As the trunk closed with a thud, and Amy climbed in next to her, Miranda watched as Caroline moved to the doorway, Cara coming up behind her to rest a hand on her shoulder. She hit the button so the window lowered and she looked at her daughter. “Be good,” she called lightly.

Caroline smirked and waved as the car pulled away.

Miranda smiled, before turning to Amy. “Schedule,” she demanded, her face sliding quickly back into work mode. The brunette nodded before handing her a sheet of paper she had at the ready, and Miranda focused on the one thing that could keep her distracted from the things she was leaving behind today: work.

* * *

 

**March 2009  
(Months since Paris: 29)**

As Miranda stepped into a familiar room in the Plaza Athenee, she glanced around. It looked the same, but something about the room felt different this time around, and she had an inkling as to exactly why that was.

As she placed her bag down on one of the sofas she stifled a yawn. She almost regretted telling Amy to schedule her day to the nines tomorrow. It may have only been an hour and a half flight between Milan and Paris, but three fashion weeks in three cities were beginning to take their toll. She missed her own bed, she missed the girls, and she missed…

Her eyes glanced in the direction of the adjoining room. The one Amy would be occupying.

Amy was _not_ the brunette she would prefer to have close at hand. It had been three weeks since she had seen Andrea, three weeks since Andrea had kissed her in the back of her own town car. Three weeks since she had _enjoyed_ it, and kissed her back.

Yes, three weeks and she still spent every moment before going to sleep mulling over it. What did it mean? Did she want this? Did Andrea want this?

Aside from a few flagrant texts here and there, the woman had been mindful of her work and had given her her space. It was refreshing, but if she was honest with herself, Miranda knew she was actually a little disappointed. Suddenly all that bold behaviour had gone up in smoke and she was tempted to stir the woman into action.

“Your bags are through in the bedroom, and here’s a copy of tomorrow’s schedule,” Amy said as she entered the room behind her and handed her a piece of paper.

Miranda glanced at her watch as she reached for it. It was almost 12:00am. It was Donatella’s fault. She _always_ got held up in Milan. “Thank you Amy, now go get some sleep. I won’t need you for the first meeting,” she said as she eyed her morning. “Take the morning off, get some rest,” she ordered.

The brunette smiled and nodded in thanks before excusing herself. Which left Miranda alone with her thoughts.

Spring was on its way, but it was still cold outside as she dropped the schedule on a small table and made her way to the balcony door. As she stepped out, she breathed deeply before approaching the railing and looking out over the Parisian skyline. She was someone who had always loved cities. She loved the immediacy of them. To have everything at your fingertips. She also loved to marvel at what generations of individuals had worked to build. Every year the skylines adjusting, and adapting. Although in Paris, most of all, she simply loved the lights. She hadn’t appreciated them the past two years, the city admittedly feeling tainted, but this year she had rediscovered her love.

Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Sachs,” a sleep laden voice reached her down the line, followed by a yawn.

“It’s almost 6:00am Andrea, shouldn’t you be awake by now?” Miranda said, donning a tone she reserved for wayward employees.

“Miranda?” Andrea replied in surprise. “Where are you?” she said, before Miranda heard rustling down the line that indicated the brunette was attempting to untangle herself from her blankets.

“I’m at the Plaza Athenee,” Miranda replied. “We landed about an hour ago.”

“Ah,” the brunette replied, before the line went silent.

“Indeed,” Miranda said, momentarily acknowledging what the location meant to the both of them before steering the conversation in a safer direction. “I drove past Les fontaines de la Concorde and found myself thinking of an utterly incompetent assistant I hired once,” she said, smirking as she leant against the railing of the balcony and tucked her free hand into her coat pocket against the chill.

Andrea chuckled down the line. “How is _Les fontaines_ at this time of year?” she asked, a hint of relief in her tone. “I heard its lovely in October, but I can’t say I’ve ever visited in the spring.”

“It appears to be technology-free at this time of year. Quite peaceful in fact.”

“Damn shame. Those old sidekicks were a step up on the euro coins for quality splashes.”

Miranda shook her head, allowing herself to smile freely as there was no one there to judge her in that moment.

“Anyway, all jokes aside; it’s good to hear from you,” Andrea said. “I was wondering how it was all going.”

“Busy, but you’re well aware of what these weeks entail,” Miranda said as she shivered against the chill, glancing up at the skyline once more before moving to go back inside. Milan had been considerably warmer than here, she thought as she slipped back into the comforting warmth of her suite.

“Oh, I’m _well_ and truly aware. How’s Amy holding up?” Andrea enquired.

“Quite well,” Miranda replied as she closed the balcony door behind her and moved towards the bedroom.

“Resounding compliment. She must be doing an astounding job,” Andrea replied with a laugh. “How about you?”

“I’m fine. As you’re aware, this is hardly a new experience, Andrea.”

“Of course,” Andrea continued to chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect you to be anything less,” she said, before following it up with another yawn.

“I think you should be worrying less about me and more about yourself it would seem,” Miranda snarked in response as she sat down on the bed.

“I’m still following up the Clinton and Gillibrand transition,” the reporter offered by way of explanation.

“I thought Kirsten was a popular choice?” Miranda replied.

“ _Kristen_? You _know_ her?”

“We’ve met in passing,” Miranda replied

“Of course you have. Well, anyway, there are a few rumbles. It looks like she’s putting some distance between herself and her Blue Dog faction ties. There are a few hints she’s moving towards a more progressive stance now that she’s in the Senate. People are interested, and it’s keeping me busy,” Andrea explained. “Anyway, it’s too early for politics, and I’d rather not waste this time talking about work.”

“Well, what would you like to discuss then?”

“Well, technically _you_ called _me_ , Miranda.”

Miranda sniffed, “I had to check in to ensure you haven’t been exploiting my driver in my absence.”

Andrea chuckled again. “I must admit I was almost tempted to call Roy the other day just to drive around the block a few times to de-stress.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate that, given that he’s on holiday with his wife,” Miranda replied matter-of-factly, as she pushed off her heels.

There was a pause before Andrea continued. “I’ve missed our evenings,” she admitted gently.

Miranda placed her feet gently back on the floor, choosing her words. “I understand the sentiment. It’s been…quiet.”

“Sorry I haven’t called, I just didn’t want to…overstep. I feel a little like I’m in limbo, with one foot stuck in something I don’t quite understand just yet.”

“Hmm. Well, we have done our best to avoid discussing it,” Miranda replied, finding it much easier to have this conversation now that she was at a distance.

“I know we shouldn’t do this over the phone, but I was serious the other night. What is this, what are we doing?”

“I don’t have an answer for you Andrea, not right now,” she said gently. “I have two teenage daughters, and my personal life has been less than stellar up until this point, as you are well aware. Not to mention a number of other things that—“

“I’m just going to stop you there,” Andrea interjected.

“Not discussing them isn’t going to make them go away, Andrea,” Miranda said seriously.

“I’ll give you that, but that also doesn’t mean they have to become the central focus either. Right now I think we can agree that neither of us are completely certain what is going on. So why not just take it a day at a time and see what happens?”

“No plan?” Miranda said.

“No plan,” Andrea reiterated.

“You know I’m not a fan of uncertainties,” Miranda said then.

“How about pleasant interludes? My thoughts have been preoccupied by one in particular recently,” Andrea said, the suggestive tone in her voice leaving Miranda with very little doubt as to what she was referring to.

“You _are_ tired,” Miranda replied with an air of indifference as she stood up from the bed and unzipped her skirt, allowing it to pool on the floor.

“Miranda,” Andrea almost growled down the phone. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” she replied as stepped out of the skirt and used her toes to raise it off the ground and grab it with her hands, draping it across a nearby chair before moving to unbutton her blouse with her free hand.

“I said, what are you doing?”

“Getting undressed,” Miranda replied, her tone feigning nonchalance even as waited to hear Andrea’s reaction. As she heard a short, sharp intake of breath she felt herself relax into a smile. She had imagined _nothing._ She didn’t know what any of this meant, but she _did_ want it, and apparently so did Andrea.

“You don’t play fair, Priestly,” Andrea said sternly down the phone.

“I’m certain I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to, Andrea,” Miranda said, even as extracted her arms from her blouse with a smirk.

“Fine, have it your way. I’m going to have a shower,” Andrea said down the line.

“Pouting doesn’t become you, Andrea,” Miranda replied.

“Who said anything about pouting? Shower time doesn’t necessarily have to mean _just_ showering,” Andrea replied, her voice low.

Miranda felt her jaw drop and the temperature in the room spike.

“Ah, so it _is_ possible to leave La Priestly speechless?” Andrea sassed.

As Miranda was about to reply, Andrea swore down the phone. “Sorry, that’s my other line, I need to take it.”

“You have _got_ to be joking,” Miranda bristled.

“Not joking, I have to go. I’ll speak to you soon,” the reporter fired off before Miranda found herself cut off.

Miranda pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. It was 12:00am and she was now certainly not in any shape to drift off swiftly to sleep.

_Unbelievable._

As she quickly undressed and pulled on a silk slip, she heard her phone buzz. Swiping it up, she looked down at the message on her screen.

 _I’ll see you when you get back ;-)_ , it read.

It was a simple statement, with a damn _emoji,_ yet still Miranda felt it rush down her spine.

She hit the reply button and pondered how to respond. She refused to be the one on the back foot right now. _Don’t play with fire, Andrea. You have no idea what you’re dealing with,_ she wrote back.

 _I know, and I look forward to it_ , came the response, and as Miranda climbed into bed she couldn’t help the smile that danced across her lips. The ghost of Andrea Elizabeth Sachs was _everywhere_ right now; in this city, in this hotel, in this very room, and for once Miranda found that she didn’t mind.


	15. Escalating Circumstances

Miranda was pacing the length of her office, the arm of her glasses against her lip and a pensive expression on her face.

She was unsettled.

She had been back in New York for two days and other than a brief text, she hadn’t heard from Andrea in a manner that she had been expecting.

The problem was that she didn’t do patience particularly well, and following their little _conversation_ about _pleasant interludes_ , Miranda had been left essentially hanging for over a week. It was bloody infuriating.

Paris was fine, as down time was always few and far between during the busiest of the four fashion weeks. However, now that she was back? Well. Things were becoming much more difficult to ignore.

Miranda Priestly was a woman of action. She just wasn’t sure exactly what the course of action should be in this instance. People usually came to her. She never had the time for chasing. However, it would appear she would be waiting until she was on her death bed for Andrea.

_Unacceptable._

She was far too old to be playing silly games.

Miranda grabbed her phone and opened up the last message from Andrea. _Welcome home, I hope you had a good flight. Enjoy your time with the girls and I’ll see you soon_ , it read.

Soon? When exactly was _soon_? What did _soon_ denote? That was sent on Wednesday when she got back. It was now Friday.

Not to mention the girls had called to notify her they would be attending a sleepover this evening, obviously devastated about not having seen their Mother for almost three weeks.

She rolled her eyes as she recalled Caroline’s blunt ‘we’ll see you all day Saturday and Sunday anyway,’ provided by way of an explanation. Usually this would upset her, but she was preoccupied with solving the other glaring issue in her life right now. If the girls had had enough of family time, then that was fine. It would give her the space to deal with Andrea.

 _Andrea_. She of bold gestures; surprise coffee runs, elevator leaps and hijacking of town cars.

Miranda tapped her glasses against her lip once more before she felt a smile creep on to her face. _Two can play at that game_ , she thought. It was about time she got one up on Andrea Sachs.

She walked to the door of her office and leant her head out. “Amy?” she said, glancing around to ensure they were alone. “Get me a current home address for Andrea Sachs,” she ordered before stepping back into her office and feeling quite pleased with herself.

The sound of her office door closing behind her was not what she was expecting, and she whipped around to find herself faced with her petite, short-haired first assistant who was looking—well— _nauseous_.

“Miranda?” Amy said shakily.

Miranda stared at her. She ran through a multitude of possible scenarios, but very few of them lined up with what was currently standing before her. The girl looked positively terrified, and that was saying something considering the amount of time she had spent in this office. “Well, out with it,” Miranda barked as she got tired of the suspense.

“I think we should contact Leslie at your PR firm,” the girl blurted so quickly that Miranda had to run the sentence over in her mind twice before it registered.

“Leslie? Exactly why would we need to do that?” Miranda asked, her tone about as comforting as an animal lulling its prey into a sense of comfort.

“Andy,” Amy said, with a wince.

Miranda stared at her assistant, crossing her arms and raising her brow, her glasses dangling from her fingertips. “Is that so?” Miranda said. She watched with interest as the small woman took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. _Interesting._

“I don’t know what’s going on, whether you’re friends or whatever; but Andy Sachs is an ex-employee, not to mention _assistant_ who quit on you in the middle of fashion week. Now she’s just a reporter at some mid-level newspaper and everyone is going to wonder why you’re spending time with—and I’m sorry for this—a woman who is half your age, and miles below you professionally, socially and economically,” Amy said firmly.

“ _Everyone?”_ Miranda said, her tone dangerous. “Exactly who is _everyone_ , Amy?”

“Right now? No one,” Amy said meekly. “But she keeps showing up, and people are inclined to talk.”

“And who, pray tell, is doing all this talking to which you refer?” Miranda demanded.

“No one, I swear. I’ve been paying attention,” Amy said.

“ _Have_ you now?”

“It’s my job to look out for you,” Amy said, a hint of desperation in her tone.

Miranda eyed her assistant, before she moved towards her desk and took a seat. She put her glasses on and then indicted to the chair before her. “Sit,” she ordered, and Amy scrambled to take her place across from her. “Who else has been ‘paying attention’ here at the office?”

“Kristen, and Emily.”

“And the rumours have gone no further?” Miranda asked.

“Rumours? No of course not, there aren’t any _rumours_ , just, people are interested about why she was at the L'Homme launch, and what she was doing in your office in January.”

“Then I fail to see why you felt it was necessary to bring this to my attention. You have yet to mention anything of importance,” Miranda said matter-of-factly, although a pang of concern was beginning to swim at the edge of her consciousness.

“All it takes is one photo. They’re going to wonder what on Earth you could possibly have in common, they’re going speculate as to why she left the magazine in the first place, why she left so dramatically, why it all coincided with your ex-husband filing for divorce and whatever other nasty, vicious, insinuations they can come up with. You _know_ how the press is Miranda. If we don’t prepare, and get on top of this early—whatever this may be,” Amy added hastily, “Then this could get real ugly, _real_ fast. I saw what was published after Stephen; but high profile divorces are a dime a dozen in this city. They’re a drop in the bucket, but this— _this_ is like—like—the whole damn bucket!” Amy finished, drawing a deep breath and looking like she was going to evacuate the contents of her stomach all over Miranda’s cream carpet.

Miranda had to admit, the girl had guts. She was quite certain she had never heard Amy speak so many words in a single sitting in her presence. That didn’t, however, mean that she was impressed by it. She was hardly an idiot. She was well aware of what the press was capable of, having been under their scrutiny for many years. “My, my we _have_ been giving this a lot of thought. You’ll be jumping at shadows next. I am intrigued however, by what you’re referring to as _this. This_ what, exactly?”

Her assistant paled, and then flushed crimson. Miranda had her answer.

As the girl went to open her mouth, she held up her hand. “No, you’ve said enough for today. Who put you up to this?” she asked.

“Kristen,” Amy muttered, her eyes dropping to her knees momentarily.

“She concurs with your assessment?”

“Yes,” Amy muttered.

Miranda pulled her glasses off and set them down on her desk. “You are aware you have signed an iron-clad confidentiality agreement in regards to my personal affairs, are you not?”

Amy nodded.

“Fine. We are going to candidly discuss my private life once; and I mean _once._ I don’t believe there is currently any cause for concern, however you raise a valid point about preparation. When this conversation is over, I want you to call Leslie and ensure that it’s handled, inside and outside of this office, and then I never wish to discuss it again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Amy said firmly.

* * *

Andy sat at home, wrapped in an old mink blanket, with a glass of wine, reading ‘The Story of Edgar Sawtelle’. It was nothing short of depressing and she was beginning to regret taking her reading advice from Oprah-friggin-Winfrey. However, she had made it her mission to read one non-political, non-work related book a month to ensure she wound off at some point.

Also, she liked dogs.

As she took a sip of wine and turned the page her roommate walked out in skin tight leather pants, a barely there white tank and a pair heels that made Andy’s feet hurt just looking at them.

“It’s Friday night, Andy,” the platinum blonde said, taking in Andy’s fluffy wool sweater and holey track pants with a hint of playful disgust. “I’m grabbing a drink before work if you wanna join?”

Andy held up her book and her wine, and shook her head. “It’s been a very, _very_ long week,” Andy said apologetically, “But thanks for the offer.”

The blonde ran a hand through her dead straight hair. “Suit yourself. I probably won’t be back this week,” she said as she hoisted up a duffel. “Daniel’s back for a couple of weeks, but I left some cash on top of the fridge for next week’s essentials if you don’t mind picking them up?”

Andy shook her head. “It’s fine, you’ve done it the last two weeks. And, thank you by the way. I’d never have milk for my cereal if it wasn’t for you.”

The blonde shrugged. “Hey, I work four days a week. Least I can do for the star reporter, eh?” she said with a grin.

Andy laughed, “That might be a bit of a stretch Carmen, but thank you.”

“No prob,” the blonde shot back as she pulled on her coat and opened the door, “Have a good one.”

“You too!” Andy called out as the door closed.

She settled back into the couch and was scanning the page she was reading to find her place when there was a knock at the door.

“You forget your keys?” Andy called out as she dragged herself out of the blanket and walked over to the door, her glass of wine dangling from her fingers.

When she didn’t get a response she looked through the peephole and felt the colour drain from her face. _No. No, no, nooo_ , she thought.

Andy whipped around and looked at her apartment in alarm. There was stuff _everywhere._ Research books were scattered across the coffee table, papers were dumped on the floor next to her discarded laptop which was still open on an article she was supposed to be editing. It was her final overview piece on the implications of the Senate shift in New York State, a culmination of the work she had been doing for the past couple of months.

Andy glanced down. _Oh God_ , she thought.

What was she _doing_ here!?

There was another knock at the door, followed by, “I know you’re in there Andrea, I just ran into your roommate downstairs,” Miranda said. “Well, I’m sincerely hoping she was your roommate and not some attempt to achieve a service industry trifecta.”

“Shit!” Andy cursed.

“Yes, and this door is _not_ sound proof, so you might as well open it,” Miranda said.

Resigned to her fate, Andy took a swig from her glass and opened the door only to be faced with one particularly smug looking Miranda Priestly.

“I sincerely hope you have wine, and that _Roy_ was involved in the selection,” Miranda said as she brushed past Andy and began surveying the space.

Andy closed the door gently, taking a moment to breath before throwing her eyes heavenward and asking what on Earth she had done to deserve the skewering she was probably about to receive.

As she turned around, Miranda was eyeing her coffee table and Andy was beginning to wonder if she had simply fallen asleep on the sofa, and this was the result. It was all just a little surreal.

“You work in _here?_ ” Miranda said, incredulously. “Don’t you have a desk? You’re a senior staff reporter; surely they’re paying you enough to buy a desk, even if it is from Ikea.”

 _Nope. Not a dream_ , Andy thought as she walked to the kitchen and grabbed another wine glass, filling it almost to the brim, and figuring a slightly tipsy Miranda would be less of a pain in her ass, not to mention less likely to take in the state of her apartment.

“Yes. No, and yes,” Andy replied as she walked towards Miranda and pressed the fresh glass into the snowy-haired woman’s hand. “The only space for a desk is in my room, and I don’t like work invading my personal space more than it has to,” she explained as Miranda accepted the glass with a nod of thanks. “Now, would you care to explain why Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway, is currently standing in the living room of my Lower East Side apartment?” she asked. “And not to mention, how on Earth did you get my address anyway!?”

“Yes, about that; you really should think about a better neighbourhood Andrea. I saw three drug dealers and a homeless man on the way from the taxi to your door,” she sniffed.

“ _Miranda_ ,” Andy growled in response.

“Yes?” Miranda said, taking a sip of her wine.

Andy rolled her eyes. It wasn’t worth it. “You took a taxi?” she asked instead. “Since when do you take taxis? And I’m going to assume you intend on staying because I can tell you right now I’m not going out. You will have to pin me down to force me into a pair of heels now.”

Andy watched telltale signs of a blush creep up her former boss’s neck, and blanched, realizing what she had just said. God, this woman seemed to give her permanent foot-in-mouth. The sexual innuendo strain.

Not to mention she felt completely on the back foot right now. It may have been _her_ apartment, but she certainly didn’t feel like she had any control over the situation at hand. Miranda had taken her completely by surprise. She had never expected this. “I didn’t mean—“ she began, before Miranda brushed her protest aside.

“Of course you didn’t,” Miranda said, recovering the situation. “And yes, a _taxi_. Amy has taken it upon herself to become my new PR manager and thought a little discretion was advisable. She felt the town car was a little too _conspicuous_ for this neighbourhood,” she said, as she handed Andy her glass and began removing her coat.

 _Staying it is_ , Andy thought as she stood there, gaping.

“Well, they certainly won’t be handing you any awards for hospitality Andrea,” Miranda sniped as she waved her coat slightly.

“Shit, sorry,” Andy said, dumping the glasses on the table, swiftly extracting Miranda’s coat from her hand, and moving towards her bedroom to hang it up. When she returned, the editor was standing with two glasses of wine, and held one out in offering.

“Thanks,” Andy said as she took the glass and stared at Miranda. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re _here_.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yes, Andrea. I’m here. I thought that was quite obvious; it was also quite intentional I might add. You’ve spent the better part of the last few months showing up in my world, not to mention my _car_. I thought it was high time I returned the favour.”

“To be fair,” Andy said, “I didn’t show up at the _townhouse._ ”

“I have children. It would have been highly inappropriate,” Miranda said.

“Inappropriate, hmm?” Andy said then, her confidence slowly beginning to return as the shock started to wear off.

“I’m beginning to think you live with your mind in the gutter, Andrea,” Miranda said as she broke eye contact to look around and take in the space they were standing in.

Andy chuckled, before resting her glass down and moving to remove the mink blanket and readjust the piles of colourful cushions scattered on the sofa. “Do you want to sit down?” she said awkwardly as the older woman nodded, then moved to sit on the couch.

Andy followed her lead and sat down at a respectable distance, leaning to grab up her glass once more and take a deep draw from it.

The vibe was different, and as they both sipped at their wines, the silence in the room began to feel oppressive without the banter. Andy was quickly coming to the realization that Miranda’s plan had extended about as far as her front door, and a casual snipe about her living conditions. She obviously hadn’t through much beyond what they would do after the initial battle died off.

Andy might even go so far as to suggest Miranda was _fidgeting_.

 _Impossible_ , she thought, deciding to break the silence. “How was Pari—“

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Miranda interjected suddenly.

Andy’s eyes snapped to the editor’s and those icy blue eyes told her things were about to take a turn for the serious.

Miranda turned to face her head on. “I’m aware of what you said over the phone, but unlike you, I can’t simply ignore this. Aside from the age difference, which is _significant_ , there are a number of things which make this situation completely impractical,” Miranda said.

Andy took a deep breath. “I’m listening,” she said.

“I am a notoriously difficult woman, Andrea. I’m controlling, impatient, and a perfectionist. I can’t stand idiots, I despise inadequacy, and I very rarely accept that I’m wrong. I’m a terrible partner, as my history proves only too well; I work too much, and when I’m not working the girls take complete priority in my life. Aside from all of that, I’m simply not _nice_ , Andrea.”

“You’re saying this like its _news_ to me,” Andy replied with a hint of incredulity, “Although I beg to differ on that last part.”

“We’re both too proud and too stubborn,” Miranda said, ignoring her.

“I won’t argue with you there,” Andy nodded.

“The press…” Miranda said finally, and Andy didn’t have an answer for that one.

Miranda gripped her wine glass, assessing her with sharp blue eyes before she got to her feet.

“Miranda,” Andy protested.

“Perhaps this was a mistake,” Miranda said.

“Miranda,” Andy said in warning as she stood up. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“Andrea,” Miranda bit back in a tone that was equally as dangerous.

“Miranda, sit down,” Andy requested as politely as she could manage. “Please? It’s been a long day and I’d rather not have this discussion standing. Not to mention, I’m down to my last two wine glasses and I have no intention of letting you leave with that one,” she said, pointing up at the glass still clutched tightly in the editor’s fist.

Miranda glanced at the wine glass, and then back at her.

“Please?” Andy said gently.

The older woman acquiesced and sat back down.

Andy sighed and sat next her. “What’s going on?” she asked. “A week ago you were fine with just seeing where this went, and now you’re leaping ahead to doomsday scenarios involving the press. What changed?”

Miranda brushed her forelock back, “We haven’t given any thought to the repercussions of this, if it escalates.”

Andy took a sip of her wine. “Well, maybe you haven’t, but I certainly have. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to be discreet?”

“Well, it would appear we haven’t been quite as discreet as I had assumed. People are beginning to notice.”

“Notice what? There hasn’t been anything _to_ notice,” Andy protested.

Miranda raised an eyebrow in response.

Andy felt the temperature in the room spike. “Okay, sure, maybe the elevator wasn’t the most subtle,” she said.

“The office?”

“Or that,” Andy replied guiltily.

“Regardless, we can’t proclaim that _this_ ,” Miranda said as she waved her hand between the two of them, “Is _nothing._ ”

“No, we can’t,” Andy said, “And I wouldn’t want to either,” she finished firmly, leaving no room for questions.

Miranda’s eyes widened.

Andy decided to throw caution into the wind and show her cards. “Look, yes I’ll admit that you’re a proven pain in the ass. I worked for you, remember? I know exactly what your schedule is like, where your priorities lie, and where it’s likely I’ll fit into that equation. I’m also not going to pretend that the press won’t eviscerate the both of us if they catch wind of this. You have more to lose than me, I’m aware of that. However, my career is important to me Miranda, and nepotism is a word that will likely be put into play if this comes out. God, I _know_ all of this, but none of that seems to make any difference. You drive me absolutely crazy and I can’t seem to leave you alone,” Andy paused. “More importantly, I don’t _want_ to leave you alone.”

“Andrea, don’t,” Miranda pleaded.

“I meant what I said in that elevator,” Andy continued, pressing forward, “You are the most impressive woman I think I’ve ever met. You are goddamn _infuriating_ , but my God I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I’ve wanted you.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Miranda said, “You have no idea what this would mean for you.”

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen it clearly. If you want to walk out, it’s your choice. However, I’m fully aware of what I’m getting myself into, so don’t use that as your excuse.”

It was a challenge, and she had thrown it at Miranda’s feet. She hadn’t even known she was going to do it, but _fuck_ it was liberating.

Miranda was staring at her, speechless.

“When did you get so…” Miranda began, waving her hand as though that provided the vocabulary she seemed to be lacking.

“Fearless?” Andy provided.

“That’s one word for it, I suppose,” Miranda said then, apparently finding her feet again. “Although I think ‘reckless’ would be more apt at this point in time.”

“I promise to be more careful, I don’t want to make life difficult you. That’s not my intention.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Miranda said.

“All I’m asking is that we don’t start the post-mortem just yet. I think it’s a good thing you’re talking to Leslie, and I’m happy to comply with whatever you wish. But, for now, how about we just enjoy a little of each other’s company, seeing as you’re here anyway?” Andy said, getting to her feet and holding out her hand. “More wine?”

“You might as well bring the bottle,” Miranda sighed in defeat, as she handed her glass up.

Andy laughed as she plucked the glass from the editor’s hand and strolled through to the kitchen.

* * *

It didn’t seem to matter what she did, Andrea had an answer for everything, or at the very least a bold statement to throw her completely off kilter and leave her feeling like she had no option other than to comply.

It was ridiculous, but what made it even worse was that she didn’t feel threatened. Quite the opposite in fact. She felt at ease. The brunette reporter said exactly what she was thinking, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see any shadows lying in wait.

In this pokey apartment, covered with knick knacks and happy candid photos there was no hidden agenda. Just goofy Andrea in her hideous sweater, holey track pants and a never-ending supply of red wine it would seem.

As the woman returned with a fresh bottle, the two of them having consumed the entire contents of the previous one, she couldn’t be entirely sure what possessed her to reach up and gently tug the still standing woman towards her as soon as the bottle hit the table.

She just wanted her _closer._

Closer than anyone, or anything else in her life at that moment.

Andrea stared down at her in surprise. She hadn’t given her any warning, she supposed. However, she simply didn’t care. She pulled the younger woman in between her thighs before tugging her down slowly by her lumpy sweater and engaging her in a light kiss.

It had been a long time since she had had anyone this close, let alone a woman.

However the first step seemed to be enough, as Andrea moved to deepen the kiss.

Miranda bit back a moan that was threatening to escape, and wrapped her hands deeper into the wool blend beneath her fingertips.

She pulled the reporter closer.

Nothing had felt this right in a long time.

Andrea tasted like red wine. Her lips were soft, and as the reporter nipped playfully at her bottom lip, the moan she had been holding back escaped, softly.

Something that had, up until that point, been nothing but a low hum in the background, moved to forefront with an unexpected ferocity and took over. Miranda felt the heat crawl through her body, and she pulled back, breathless.

Andrea was standing over her, her hands conveniently placed on either side of her head, gripping the sofa for support. Miranda was effectively pinned in place.

The reporter was flushed, and breathing heavily. Being able to have this effect again was empowering. By the time her marriage had ended, Miranda could tell Stephen was less than overwhelmed by her aging body, regardless of how much effort went into maintaining it.

It should have bothered her more than it did, but _sex_ had been perfunctory. Obligatory. Something used to stave off arguments. A result of acquiescence on her behalf.

 _This?_ No, _this_ was so far from perfunctory she couldn’t be sure she had the words to describe it in that moment.

Andrea was staring down at her as though searching for some definitive sign. Some instruction on what to do next. All of the tension from the last few months, from their constant back and forth, and push and pull was flowing through the room.

Neither of them said anything as they simply held there, breathing slightly labored as though they were standing on the edge of a precipice and the first person to break would certainly be the first to fall.

That person turned out to be Andrea.

“Did you have anywhere else you needed to be this evening?” Andrea asked shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miranda stared at that flushed face, and those glistening eyes. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t believe that I do.”

She barely caught the smile on the younger woman’s face before the ground was ripped out from beneath her feet. The instant the words left her mouth, Andrea’s lips were covering hers once more.

Andrea surged forward, and Miranda heard the involuntary groan that escaped her own lips as she felt the reporter’s knee dig deep between her thighs. She clung to the sweater still underneath her fingertips and pulled the brunette closer until she was practically on top of her.

Miranda felt the hands near her head move, and suddenly fingers were sliding up into her hair and firm thighs were straddling her on either side. It was close, intensely intimate, and she was struggling to recall a time when her body had felt this alive.

Andrea pulled back, a vain attempt to catch her breath Miranda presumed, and one the editor wasn’t going to allow her.

Instead, Miranda leant forward and pressed her lips just under Andrea’s ear before moving down to suckle on her pulse point gently. She dragged her hands, which had found their way to Andrea’s thighs at some point during the exchange, up the length of the woman’s legs before sliding them up and under her sweater, brushing across her ribs.

Andrea gasped at the first contact on bare skin, her head falling back slightly, and allowing Miranda better access to her neck, which the editor intended to take full advantage of.

“Andrea?” Miranda whispered into reporter’s ear as Andrea’s hips rolled forward and she felt a jolt in her extremities which indicated they were going to need to move this along, and with less clothing, preferably.

“Yes, Miranda?” the reporter purred in her most innocent, doe-eyed tone as she pressed her lips to a spot on Miranda’s neck which made her hiss, and caused her to grip at the brunette’s side more firmly.

Miranda felt the woman’s hands begin to wander down from her hair, to her neck, tracing along her collarbone before landing on the first button of her cream Marc Jacob’s blouse.

Andrea pulled back, her smile positively salacious.

Miranda noted that her pupils were blown wide open, her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was glowing. Her skin was warm to the touch, and soft underneath her fingertips. As Miranda moved her hands higher, she relished the feeling of the woman’s quick intake of breath, the sass wiped instantly from her face. Andrea was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined, and she wondered how on Earth she had failed to notice _this_ woman while she had worked barely ten feet away from her.

 _That was probably a good thing_ , she thought.

Andrea’s face wrinkled slightly in concentration as she undid the first button of her blouse before slowly moving to the second, pressing her hips down again as she did so, and managing to elicit a gasp from Miranda.

“I’m assuming you have a perfectly good bed somewhere in this apartment?” Miranda responded in turn, a little breathlessly.

The reporter ignored her and Miranda found herself inhaling in surprise as Andrea pressed her lips back against her own, simultaneously sliding a hand inside her shirt and gently kneading at her left breast.

Miranda cursed her choice of lingerie today as the thin layer of lace merely assisted the reporter in her mission to drive her over the edge. As the material rubbed against her already taut nipple she felt her hips rise involuntarily, seeking further pressure.

Andrea chuckled against her lips, having achieved her revenge. The brunette wasn’t wasting any time, and this was quickly spiraling beyond Miranda’s ability to control.

“Andr—“ Miranda began, before the woman in questions forced their lips back together, effectively cutting her off. Andrea slid her tongue into her mouth, licking and stroking before pulling her hand out of the blouse and moving off her thighs, getting to her feet and pulling Miranda with her.

With her five inch heels sporting a one inch platform, Miranda found herself standing ever so slightly taller than Andrea in nothing but her bare feet. She used her added elevation to swiftly take control of the situation, moving forward to grab the base of the woman’s sweater and pull it over her head.

As she threw the offending article to the side, she took in the sight of Andrea, standing there in plain black t-shirt bra.

Miranda warmed at the sight of bare skin before pressing their bodies together once again. She attached her lips back onto Andrea’s and ran her palms all over the newly revealed skin, before sliding her hands down the back of those goddamn track suit pants to grasp at the soft skin underneath.

Andrea gasped into her mouth as she moved her hands even lower, lightly brushing her backside before running her fingertips along the crease connecting to her thighs. Miranda felt the tension coil in the woman pressed up against her, followed by a shiver and she smirked triumphantly into their kiss.

“She has a weakness,” she said smugly.

Andrea growled, her hands moving to the top of the zip resting at the base of her spine. The reporter tugged roughly, quickly divesting her of her Oscar de la Renta pencil skirt. As it hit the floor, Miranda felt the reporter’s hands move to the top of her stockings and begin to slowly peel them away from her skin, following the trail of their descent down her hips and thighs.

Miranda’s hands slipped out from their place against the reporter’s soft skin, gliding up her back as the Andrea slid lower, hands caressing her calves before pinching her ankle in a silent demand.

Miranda acquiesced, lifting her foot out of one heel and then the other, her stockings thrown unceremoniously to the side as felt light kisses begin the ascent back up the inside of her thighs.

Her muscles clenched in response, and she gripped the hair her fingers had found their way to as Andrea approached what she assumed was her target.

When the woman pulled away at the last moment, Miranda growled in frustration.

“Patience,” a voice chuckled in her ear, even as its owner walked past her to the coffee table, plucking up the fresh bottle of wine and pouring a small glass.

Miranda gaped at the other woman. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” Miranda demanded.

“Getting a drink,” Andrea replied as she picked up the replenished glass and took a sip, her eyes gliding over Miranda in a manner that the editor could only consider predatory.

Miranda glanced down, and took stock. She was barefoot, in nothing but an Agent Provocateur thong, the matching bra peeking out from under a now slightly damaged Marc Jacob’s blouse.

She was feeling extremely exposed, but she resisted the urge to cross her arms across her chest and show weakness.

Andrea moved towards her, eyes dark as she took another sip of the wine before proffering her the glass. Miranda reached out to take it, sipping gently as Andrea trailed a hand up her arm and then moved behind her.

As Miranda finished the remainder of the wine, Andrea extracted the glass, tossing it carelessly in the direction of the sofa before reaching her hands around to unbutton the remaining buttons of her blouse.

Andrea proceeded to pull the blouse halfway down her arms, and Miranda found her movement severely restricted by the perfectly tailored, form fitting garment. As she tugged against the material, Andrea pulled the silk a little tighter, effectively trapping her in place.

The reporter began to kiss her way freely down her neck and shoulders, and Miranda felt her other hand, not currently engaged in her entrapment, roam lightly over the skin of her chest, abdomen, and then along the line of her designer lingerie.

Miranda felt her heart rate quicken, and she gasped as Andrea ran a single digit down the front of her underwear before dragging it ever so slowly back up.

The sensation through the material set her on fire, and she immediately knew she was in serious trouble. She had allowed Andrea to take control of the situation, and now she was unable to do anything to regain the upper hand.

As if reminding her of her current helplessness, Andrea used the blouse once more, pulling her back against her, and holding her firmly in place with one arm, even as Miranda felt her free hand waste no time, moving beneath the waistband of her underwear.

Andrea’s fingers slid down through her dampness, and Miranda bucked involuntarily against her hand, biting down firmly on her lip to stifle a cry.

She could feel the ease with which the woman’s fingers slid through her folds, and couldn’t believe how unbelievably wet she already was.

Andrea ran her fingers back and forth slowly, purposefully avoiding that vital bundle of nerves each and every time. Miranda growled in frustration, even as she gasped when the brunette returned her attention back to her neck.

Miranda could feel the moisture increasing impossibly further between her thighs, and there was little she could do to stop it. She was fighting tooth and nail against the primal urge to simply grind herself against Andrea’s hand.

She couldn’t take much more of this. “Andrea,” she choked out, her tone embarrassingly desperate.

The brunette responded by suddenly moving lower, sliding her fingers teasingly around her entrance, penetrating her lightly before withdrawing and sliding the moisture up to circle her clit lightly. _Too_ lightly.

“Yes, Miranda?” she breathed into her ear, even as she knowingly denied Miranda the pressure and penetration she desperately needed, and wanted.

Miranda felt the tension begin building in her abdomen before tendrils began winding their way through every part of her body. She arched her back slightly and bit back a whine. Her head came to rest on the younger woman’s shoulder, and Andrea continued her controlled circles, never acquiescing to her needs.

Whimpers began to escape past her lips as the pressure kept skyrocketing higher. Every muscle in her body was becoming taut and her hips began canting forward to meet Andrea’s light touches, trying desperately to find purchase on the fingers currently tormenting her past the point of reason.

Miranda heard the tear of fabric as her blouse finally gave way under the tension of her arms. With her new found freedom she reached up and grabbed Andrea behind the neck and pulled her down into a less than delicate kiss.

Miranda felt Andrea release the torn fabric and move her now unhampered to her stomach, pulling her hard against her, returning the kiss with equal ferocity.

Miranda had had more than enough of being controlled, and she spun around, threading her fingers roughly into Andrea’s hair and pulling her firmly against her mouth.

Andrea responded in kind, grabbing her hips roughly and pulling her forward, sliding her thigh in between her legs and reaching up to tug her bra down, exposing a single breast momentarily before her palm covered it with a touch of savageness that only served to send her higher.

Miranda ground down on the thigh between her legs and Andrea moved the hand covering her breast straight down and slid it back inside her underwear. She clung onto the reporter desperately. She was so close she was dancing along the edges of that inevitable wave, but her tormentor was still continuing to hold everything just out of reach.

“Oh God…Jesus…stop,” Miranda choked out as she tore her bruised lips away, and found her voice shaky and desperate.

Andrea pressed her lips to her ear, whispering a resounding “No,” even as the fingers inside her underwear finally moved to apply direct pressure, moving in firm, tight circles.

There was roaring in Miranda’s ears, and she moaned, pleaded and begged before everything suddenly stopped.

It was like a crystal clear moment of clarity before something broke inside of her and her world came crashing down. Her thighs trembled and shook uncontrollably as every nerve ending in her body took flight. There was nothing she could do to prepare herself for the flood but cling hopelessly to Andrea’s neck.

As everything slowed, she found herself slumped against a warm body, sweat cooling along her back and a self-satisfied chuckle in her ear. Damp fingers removed themselves from her now destroyed Agent Provocateur, and painted a trail down her spine, causing an involuntarily shiver.

“You know,” Andrea said, her voice low and husky, “When I said we should enjoy each other’s company, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she chuckled.

“Andrea,” Miranda replied when she finally regained her voice.

“Hmm?” the reporter replied, her fingers still trailing absentmindedly over her back.

“Bed. _Now_ ,” Miranda growled.

Andrea chuckled before grabbing her by the hips, and leading the way.


	16. Morning After

Miranda startled as she opened her eyes and found an unfamiliar ceiling above her. Her heart rate skyrocketed as she sat up and a low thread count sheet slipped away, revealing her _very_ bare chest.

A body rolled into her and she looked down to see long brunette locks splayed over a pale, toned back, which did very little to assist her arresting heart rate.

“Yes, you’re naked. No, you’re not dreaming. Now lay down, Miranda, you’re pulling all the covers off,” Andrea groused hoarsely from underneath a blanket of hair.

Miranda took a deep breath, pulling her heart rate back down to normal before raising an eyebrow at the woman sprawled out on her stomach next to her. “Not much of a morning person, are we?” she said haughtily.

“No, it’s a Saturday,” Andrea grumbled as she pushed her hair out of her face and winced against the light shining in through the curtains. “What time is it?” she groaned, as she rolled onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes.

The action left her chest thoroughly exposed, and Miranda felt a familiar heat flood through her as she remembered the feeling of soft weight in her hands, and firm buds in her mouth only a few hours prior.

“I don’t know,” she said quickly, dragging her eyes away from the young woman’s exposed chest and crossing her arms across her own. “You sleep like an animal.”

“And you snore,” Andrea sassed back as she lowered her arm and blinked up at Miranda, a smirk on her face.

“I do nothing of the sort,” Miranda sniffed in response.

“You snore, _and_ you kick,” Andrea chuckled as she rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand.

The brunette’s hair was mussed, and the only description for her this morning was the look of someone who had been ‘well-fucked’, to put it bluntly. Miranda cleared her throat and turned her eyes towards a fascinating picture on the wall. She hated to even consider how she looked in that moment.

Andrea laughed.

Miranda turned back towards her and glared.

“That look is a lot more terrifying when you’re clad in couture, Miranda,” Andrea said with a smirk.

“Hmm, is that so?” Miranda said, raising her eyebrow in warning as she dropped her arms from her chest and slid a hand under the covers.

“What are yo—“ Andrea began before letting out a hiss, her back snapping into an arch.

“Must you always insist on teasing me, Andrea?” the editor drawled, as she felt a welcoming wetness and slid two fingers home without any pretense.

The reporter’s only response was a moan.

* * *

Miranda was pacing the length Andy’s living room, her impatience visibly growing with every step. “Yes, I understand that Leslie, Amy was going to meet with you on Monday to go over the finer details,” she said down the phone as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Andy watched as the editor-in-chief rolled her eyes as she listened to the response.

“Yes, well this wasn’t exactly my plan when I came over here,” Miranda continued, “And no, I absolutely am _not_ confirming that with you! Now just tell me how I can get back to the townhouse without drawing any unwanted attention.”

As Miranda pausing mid-turn, Andy took a sip of her coffee and took a moment to take in the snowy-haired woman in her apartment. One thing was for certain, and that was that the woman before her was as real as they come, even if she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Miranda Priestly, head of the world’s fashion empire was currently stalking backwards and forwards in her boxy apartment, clad in a pair of Prada heels, light stockings, a high waisted Oscar de la Renta skirt, and then nothing but her bra. Her blouse had been completely destroyed, and Andy winced when she took in the Marc Jacobs’ strewn across the back of the sofa, recalling just how much a single piece cost. And that one? Probably custom made.

Miranda had clucked in disapproval as she took the garment in this morning, but had failed to say anything else about it. Andy took that as a small victory for her creative thinking the previous evening. Apparently it had been worth the sacrifice in the older woman’s eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Miranda said in a clipped tone, before she clicked her fingers at Andy for what the reporter presumed was a pen and paper.

Andy rolled her eyes and grabbed a stray notebook off the counter she was currently leaning on. _Some things never change,_ she thought wryly as she strolled towards the editor-in-chief and pressed it, along with a pen into her hand.

Miranda didn’t even offer a thank you as she took the book and flicked to a clear page, jotting down a number.

She should have been annoyed, but Andy found something comforting in the fact Miranda was still simply Miranda, regardless of the fact she had seen her completely and utterly exposed.

“I haven’t done anything in the last two years to warrant such attention,” Miranda continued as she flicked the notebook onto the counter top and then resumed her pacing.

Andy moved to the kitchen to pour the editor a fresh coffee, the one she prepared earlier no doubt far too cold by now.

“Oh for Christ’s sake Leslie, this isn't an Orwellian dystopia,” Miranda snapped from somewhere behind her and Andy felt herself chuckle before turning back and finding the editors the eyes fixed directly on her.

“26,” Miranda said, weakly.

Andy heard yelling from the other end of the call, and the editor-in-chief noticeably winced. Andy had had to deal with Leslie on more than one occasion, and she was well aware of what the fiery public relations expert was capable of. She was one of a very, very small list of people who had no qualms about going head to head with Miranda.

Miranda didn’t take her eyes off her as she continued. “Yes, I’m well aware of the press will say, hence the reason I would prefer this _not_ get out at this stage,” she said, before rolling her eyes at whatever the response was. “Yes, it’s _that_ assistant,” she said, narrowing her eyes in accusation.

Andy was tempted to laugh at the look being directed at her, but thought better of it given the circumstances.

“Oh very funny,” Miranda said down the phone, rolling her eyes and turning away from Andy slightly, her hand moving to her hip. “I’ll have you know your sense of humour is not appreciated this morning, Leslie. I’m rethinking my representation.”

Miranda sighed, and leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes and tilting her head skyward, “Yes I know, thank you,” she paused, “Okay, I’ll speak to her about it,” she paused again, “Yes, I heard you, I’ll have Amy call you with everything today and I’ll see you on Monday morning,” she said, the hint of finality hard to miss before she ended the call.

Andy picked up the cup of coffee and rounded the counter, coming to stand directly in front of the editor and pressing the mug into her hands.

“I did warn you,” Miranda said matter-of-factly.

“That you did,” Andy said with a shrug, blowing absently on her own coffee.

“This is serious, Andrea,” Miranda said. “Last night was reckless. Being here this morning is reckless. We need to be more careful.”

Andy nodded, taking a small step forward. “I know, but if I start taking this too seriously I’ll start thinking in doomsday scenarios, and right now I don’t want to ruin a perfect Saturday morning,” she said as she ran an open palm across bare skin, causing the snowy-haired woman to shiver before she slid her hand around to Miranda’s back and pulled her into a soft kiss.

“I should have known you would be the overly-sentimental type,” Miranda scoffed, as she pulled back to take a sip of her coffee.

“I can do a lot more than sentiments,” Andy replied, her eyes twinkling over the rim of her mug as she mirrored the editor’s actions.

“If you think you’re going to charm me with that look, then think again. It’s your fault we slept so late,” Miranda said in accusation.

“Perhaps, but I’d like to see you proclaim that you didn’t enjoy it,” Andy replied smugly before continuing. “What time are the girls due back?” she asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes and then pressed for the display on her phone, the location of her watch currently unknown. “In two hours. I really sho—“ she was cut off by a buzzing from her phone. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered as she picked up. “Good morning Bobbsey.”

Andy watched as Miranda spoke with her daughters. It was like looking at the sanded down surface of the woman she knew. Still Miranda, just softer, more forgiving. Miranda hadn’t been joking when she said she was complicated, and Andy had a feeling she was only beginning to scratch the surface of the many facets of La Priestly’s mercurial personality.

“No, I’m not home yet, Caroline,” she said, eyeing Andy’s face, before dropping to trace the length of her body in that way that set Andy’s skin alight. Always had. “Where am I?” Miranda repeated, raising her chin once again to catch Andy’s eyes with a grin, “Oh, nowhere important I can assure you. Simply a meeting that seems to have dragged on _much_ longer than I intended.”

Andy rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’m leaving now. I’ll see you both when I get in,” Miranda said. “Yes, I love you too,” she finished before ending the call.

Andy smiled gently at Miranda.

The editor rolled her eyes as she tossed her phone aside carelessly and clasped the still blistering hot coffee she had been holding in between both of her palms. “I’m glad to see some things haven’t been forgotten,” she said as Andy watched her take a sip, a familiar expression of calm washing over her features as she hummed in approval.

“As if I could _ever_ forget,” Andy snarked as she took a sip from her own mug.

“Is that so?” Miranda bit back.

“Really?” Andy scoffed. “The terror with which that order was instilled in my memory makes it highly unlikely I’ll _ever_ forget it. I could probably still order your coffee on my death bed.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Andrea.”

“Have you _seen_ yourself before caffeine? Have you never wondered why the halls are conspicuously empty when you arrive for work?”

Miranda sniffed, her lips pursing in displeasure.

Andy’s lips quirked. “One no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot. _Now, Ahhn-drey-ahh,_ ” she said in mocking, and Miranda’s brow shot up.

“You’ve been storing that one up for some time, haven’t you, _Andy_.”

Andy smirked. “I have indeed.”

“Fine, you think you’re so clever. When’s my birthday?”

“August 10.”

“The girls?”

“April 21st. They’ll be fourteen next month.”

“My favourite colour?”

“Cerulean,” Andy snarked and Miranda laughed. “Oh, you remember that, do you?” Andy said as she poked Miranda gently in the chest.

“Yes, it was one of my finer monologues, I must admit,” Miranda smirked. “You should have seen your face.”

“You were _vicious_ ,” Andy replied.

“But correct, as always I might add,” Miranda smiled before taking another sip of coffee, her face turning pensive. “You know so much about me, Andrea. Yet, I know so very little of you.”

Andy shrugged. “My birthday is November 11th, and I like carbs in all forms. What else do you need to know?”

Miranda rolled her eyes.

“I know La Priestly,” Andy said. “But, I’m beginning to realize that La Priestly isn’t even _half_ of it,” she sighed dramatically.

“Oh darling, you have no _idea_ what you’re dealing with,” Miranda replied, with a dangerous glint in her eye and an even more dangerous smile which Andy felt all the way down to her toes.

“But here’s the thing, Miranda,” Andy paused, “I _do_ ,” she finished in a tone that could probably be best described as ‘smouldering’.

Miranda pressed her hand into the centre of Andy’s chest, halting the reporter’s advance. “Oh no you don’t,” Miranda said sternly, apparently spotting the look on Andy’s face before following her eyes down to her exposed cleavage. She swatted her under the chin in reproach, forcing Andy’s eyes back up. “I hope you have something for me to wear, preferably _not_ in polyester,” she said.

“I’ve got a white tank top, or a Northwestern soccer uniform. Take your pick,” Andy said, still smiling suggestively at the editor as she reached out a hand.

“Ever the comedienne, aren’t we?” Miranda said.

“Always,” Andy winked, just as Miranda intercepted her hand before it landed smack dab on her left breast.

“Andrea,” Miranda growled in warning.

“Yes, Miranda?” Andy purred.

“As much as I would enjoy having you _back_ on your knees,” she said with a less than innocent smile, “I have two teenagers who will sniff us out faster than bloodhounds if I do not go home and change.”

Andy sighed dramatically. “Well, only because it’s the twins, I suppose,” she said before drawing Miranda into one more slow sensual kiss.

“Just wait here, I’ll find you something,” she whispered in the editor’s ear as Miranda stood there, her eyes still closed as Andy pulled away.

As Andy reached her doorway, she turned back to catch Miranda watching her, her face thoughtful.

She smiled genuinely at the editor, standing there in her bra as though it was simply any other day.

Miranda rolled her eyes in response, but Andy caught the tug at her lips that indicated she was quite pleased nonetheless.


	17. Doomsday Scenarios

Miranda’s plan to hand everything off to Amy and carry on her merry way was tossed unceremoniously out the window as soon Monday morning rolled around. When Amy had approached her regarding the need to consult PR, she had been admittedly a little flippant about the whole thing. However, having now given it some serious though, and given the weekend’s…events, she was aware that she couldn’t step back from this entirely, and would have to be involved. She wished that she could keep her private life, and dealing with the burden of her public life separate, just this once.

Miranda sighed as she watched a woman with a full head of brown burls, and a fiery expression on her face come marching down the walkway to her office. She had a face like thunder, and the countenance of someone on their way to war. Miranda knew instantly that it was going to be a long thirty minutes.

Leslie Brauer was in her mid-40s and was the Managing Director of one of New York City’s most distinguished PR firms. It wasn’t one of the largest, not by far; but it had a reputation for exceptional service. The firm specialized in select number of clients, predominantly CEO’s in sensitive industries, financiers, representatives from the publishing elite and a handful of celebrities on the less extreme end of the scale.

Leslie was good at her job.

No, actually Leslie was the best. She was an absolute pitbull and had been headhunted by just about every public relations firm from Manhattan to Los Angeles. However, the brunette had chosen to stay put, climbing rapidly through the ranks of a small firm and turning it into the home of one of the most sought after public relations teams on the eastern seaboard.

She had also been representing Miranda for over ten years.

“A taxi? Just a random ole’ taxi, eh?” Leslie said as soon as she landed in her office and shut the door behind her.

It was 6:45am and Miranda had requested a crack of dawn meeting. She sat at her desk, picking up her coffee with a mild expression and waited for the inevitable.

“For fuck sake, Miranda! How long have you been doing this!? A fucking taxi!? Of all of my clients, you have always been the least dense, until right now,” the Director exploded.

There had been a reason Leslie had agreed to handle this case personally, and Miranda was beginning to think it was simply so she could come into her domain and fly off the handle. Well, not to mention Miranda hadn’t given her much of an option. As Miranda had told her when she took over the Directorship, she hired Leslie as her PR Manager, and she was willing to make a few concessions, however Leslie would _remain_ her PR Manager. She wanted no one but the best.

Miranda didn’t react, she simply sat back and waited for the fiery brunette to continue. And she didn’t disappoint.

“You know how this works! The whole bloody city knows who you are, Miranda! You haven’t stepped foot in the Lower Eastside in 20 years unless for a scheduled event, and you just thought, what? Oh, hey, I know, let’s just listen to my half-witted assistant and take a fucking _public_ cab. Last time I checked you weren’t Carrie-fucking-Bradshaw! Apparently your brain has slid from your skull to somewhere down in between your thighs.”

Miranda rolled her eyes at the outburst. She was used to the woman’s crassness. “Oh, do calm down, Leslie,” she said as she sat forward in her seat and placed her coffee down gently on her desk with a bored look. “There’s no need for histrionics.”

Leslie stared at her in disbelief. “Histrionics!? I’ll show you histrionics Miranda Priestly; I mean for fucks sake, you even spoke to the roommate!?”

“In passing,” Miranda said, bristling slightly.

“Andy told Tricia the girl is a bartender!”

Miranda’s eyes flashed dangerously, and she sat up straighter in her chair. “Yes, about _Tricia_. You overstepped, Leslie,” she said dangerously.

Leslie had taken it upon herself to send her flying monkey to Andrea’s apartment on Sunday and grill the reporter on her entire life’s history, without Miranda’s knowledge, and then ordered a full background check after deeming Andrea ‘too clean’.

“A necessity,” Leslie said, ignoring her glare. “More importantly, _Carmen_ could have strolled down to whatever cesspool she works in and mouthed off to half the customers that Miranda Priestly was visiting her dear friend Andy, on a Friday evening. In. Her. Apartment. It’s a goddamn miracle you weren’t smack dab in the middle of page 6 this morning,” Leslie ranted, and Miranda scoffed in response.

Leslie advanced on her desk. “Look, you can save that ‘zero fucks’ Ice Queen attitude you have going on right now. You’re a hairs breadth away from pissing your reputation down the toilet Miranda Priestly. But, you know what? You wanna’ do that? Be my guest!” the curly headed brunette proclaimed dramatically, before throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

“Are you quite finished?” Miranda said.

Leslie took a deep breath before sitting in the chair opposite Miranda. “Yes, I think so. I’ve been saving that one up since Saturday.”

Miranda rolled her eyes as she watched the publicist reach into her bag, pulling out a dictaphone and a notepad.

“All right Miranda, start talking, and don’t leave anything out,” Leslie ordered.

* * *

By the time they had finished, Miranda was exhausted. Leslie had ordered her to go over her and Andrea’s history with a fine tooth comb. She looked down at her watch as she saw Jane arrive at her desk. It was almost 7:30am.

“We need to wrap this up, I have a big day,” Miranda said. “What’s your initial assessment?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?” Leslie asked seriously.

“I didn’t ask you here for a sugar coated fairytale,” Miranda snapped, not liking the ominous tone.

“Fine. To put it bluntly? End it,” Leslie said matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” Miranda said, startled.

“I mean it, Miranda,” Leslie said carefully. “I’ve known you a long time, and you need to end this. It doesn’t matter which way I spin this, it’s all going to look bad. I consulted with 42 West on the Ashton and Demi saga, but that was a sixteen year age difference. That was a walk in the park in comparison to this. The age gap between you and Andrea is older than she is. Not to mention the fact she’s a woman. How long do really think this is going to last? It’s not worth it. It’s not worth the damage to your reputation or the effect it will have on your kids. This girl will bolt the second things get too hard, and trust me, they _will_ get hard. She had no qualms about walking out on you in Paris; what on Earth makes you think that this time will be any different?”

Leslie wasn’t lying, they had known each other for a long time. It was following her first divorce that she decided she needed to move out from under the company’s publicity firm and consult with her own. Leslie had been her publicist from day one. There was a certain level of honesty required in the publicist/client relationship. Leslie had pushed her many times when it was required, but this was the first time Miranda felt she had pushed too far.

“Fuck you,” Miranda said in a voice so quiet and deadly that she couldn’t even be sure she had said it. The fact that her publicist was staring at her in shock confirmed it, however. It was a rare moment when something took Leslie Brauer off guard. She watched as the look on the curly-headed brunette’s face morphed from disbelief to understanding.

“My God, you’re in _love_ with her?” Leslie said, in awe.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Leslie,” Miranda snapped.

“I’m not. You’re going to go to the mat over this girl, aren’t you?” the publicist said in disbelief.

“Well I certainly won’t allow the press to dictate my life choices,” Miranda said.

“I should have known she was dangerous the second I got the call on Saturday. You have _never_ been this reckless. Jesus,” Leslie swore, getting to her feet and pacing the length of the room before turning back to face Miranda. “You’re sure about this?”

“Would you be here if I wasn’t?” Miranda snapped, tired of this constant prodding.

“No, I suppose not,” Leslie said, taking her seat once more. “All right, Miranda. Well, let’s start slow I guess. I’ll just work on containment, but you and Andy are going to need to be open and up front with my team. No sneaking around. Every time a client thinks they’re being subtle, they’re really not. When circumstances change, we’ll reassess. For now, just be smart,” she said, as she began packing up her things. “And for the love of God, use a fucking approved car service!”

* * *

Andy rubbed her eyes as she glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen. It was almost 10:00pm and she was still in the office. The run up to the 20th congressional district special election was keeping her far busier than she expected, and with Tedisco and Murphy practically neck in neck it didn’t look like it was likely to ease off before the vote on March 31st.

The last couple of weeks had progressed about as smoothly as two people with hectic, often conflicting and generally nightmarish schedules could expect. Miranda was coming off the back of her busiest month, and as a result, the twins had taken priority as Andy had expected. Miranda didn’t want the girls involved until they knew for certain exactly what it was they were doing, and Andy was quick to agree. She wasn’t sure how she would manage three Priestly women when she barely had a handle on one.

Of course this meant time had become almost non-existent, as their relationship was compartmentalized not only from the public, but from Miranda’s home life as well.

Andy twirled her pen and smiled. She wasn’t about to proclaim that it was easy, but it had certainly added an element of fun. One night last week, things escalated so quickly in the back of the town car that Andy was certain Roy knew _exactly_ what they were up to, privacy screen or not.

Andy crossed her legs at the memory.

Yes, she had known exactly what she was getting herself into, and she had known it wouldn’t be easy. She worked in the industry. She _knew_ how page 6 picked up their leads. All it took was one suggestive rumour to take flight, and she and Miranda could find themselves separated by a wall of photographers, forced to call it off or go public.

Public wasn’t an option right now. Andy wasn’t sure when it would become an option for Miranda either.

Andy was handling the situation remarkably better than the Miranda. After the editor-in-chief had suggested a dinner out, Leslie had shut her down, claiming it would only draw attention to Andy and put her on the radar.

Andy had then been forced to listen to a 15 minute long rant about the failures of New York publishing to control the rabid dogs that were the paparazzi, and how there used to be respect for status in Manhattan, before the advent of iPhones and TMZ. “When did we move to Los Angeles?” Miranda had demanded to know.

Yes, Leslie was effective, if a little irritating. She was determined to ensure that the only people who had control over the dissemination of information was her firm, and she was relentless in her approach. She had thought of every possible doomsday scenario and had covered bases Andy hadn’t even thought of. It was a little disconcerting, but she accepted that it came with the territory and did her best to ignore it for Miranda’s sake.

Andy was startled out of her musings by her phone ringing.

“Don’t tell me you’re still at the office as well,” Andy said, in lieu of hello.

“No, I’m at home. I take it you’re not?” Miranda said down the line.

“No, I’m trying to catch up to be honest. It’s been a bit like fighting fires,” she sighed.

“How long until the vote?” Miranda asked.

“Five days. Don’t get me wrong, this year has kept me well and truly on my toes with all the changes, but I have to admit I’m ready for a break.”

“You sound tired,” Miranda said.

“Gee, thanks,” Andy scoffed.

Miranda chuckled lightly down the line, before pausing.

The silence was telling, and it was making Andy nervous. “Sounds serious,” Andy said.

“No, I just have something I wish to discuss with you, but it can wait until tomorrow,” Miranda said.

“No,” Andy said with a yawn, getting to her feet. “I’m going to pack it in now anyway, I can barely think straight. Hit me.”

“The girls know,” Miranda said bluntly, and Andy froze.

“ _What?_ How?” Andy said.

“Well, your little Christmas card sparked off some curiosity over the holidays. They picked up on a couple of things before I went to London, and Caroline broached the subject this evening. There was little use in denying it at this point.”

It took Andy a couple of moments before she could find her words. “What do you want to do?” she asked. They hadn’t really talked about this.

“I thought a low key brunch at the townhouse after the state congressional. Spring Break will start on April 6th, and girls will be around a lot over that period. Having them aware of the situation will make things considerably easier,” Miranda said.

“I know you didn’t want to involve them in this so soon, Miranda. I’m sorry,” Andy said.

“They’re more than capable and it’s going to be different this time around. There wasn’t an issue with keeping my dating life separate before. They were younger and they didn’t read papers or gossip blogs, but now?” Miranda paused, “Andrea we can’t keep doing this. If things carry on the way they are, something is eventually going to break, whether it be us or the story,” she said tiredly. “I’m too old to be running around like a teenager. As fun as it is, we’re both going to tire of it sooner rather than later. If we involve the girls now, they have time to get used to the idea and you can at least come to the townhouse. We can spend _time_ , Andrea. After that, well that all depends on us I suppose.”

“What you’re saying makes a lot of sense, actually,” Andy said.

“I’m aware that this is a lot, I didn’t intend to put you on the spot like this. However, I don’t intend for this to signify any obligation, and the girls are aware of that. I just want to be able to have dinner when our schedules allow without having to call in the cavalry, if you’re amendable to the idea of course,” Miranda added quietly.

It was a vulnerable statement for Miranda, and Andy was quick to realize that the editor was laying a lot on the line right now.

Andy smiled. “Amendable? It sounds perfect, M,” she said gently.

“Okay, well I’ll be sure to notify _Leslie_ ,” Miranda said, the wryness back in her tone.

Andy chuckled. “Please do. Now if you don’t mind, I want to get home some time before midnight.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, Roy will be there shortly. Goodnight, Andrea,” Miranda said before ending the call before Andy even had a chance to call her on her gesture.

The brunette shook her head and smiled. Miranda Priestly would never cease to amaze her.

* * *

It was after 11:00pm when her phone rang, and Leslie Brauer knew only one person who would dare to call her personal line at that hour of the evening. “This better be important,” she barked down the line.

“Remind me again why I pay for your abuse?” Miranda snarked down the line.

“Because nobody else can save your ass better than I can,” Leslie shot back.

“And yet they still call me the Dragon Lady.”

“I’m a publicist, not a miracle worker,” Leslie snorted.

“Hilarious,” Miranda drawled, before turning to the subject at hand. “You told me to call if there was a change in the situation.”

“What have you done now?” Leslie groaned.

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“You call me at 11:00pm? I’m going to presume the worst.”

“Well you can rest assured that I have done nothing of the sort. Andrea and I have decided to have brunch at the townhouse, with the girls, in a week. It will be during the day, nothing untoward, however I expect her to be spending more time here in future if everything goes well,” Miranda said matter-of-factly.

Leslie let out a relieved chuckle. “That’s it? Brunch?”

“Yes, what else were you expecting? Something sordid I’m presuming. Are all publicists classically conditioned to see sex and scandal around every corner?”

“Now, now Priestly. Let’s be fair about this. The last time you called me unexpectedly you had been rolling around in the hay with your 26-year-old ex-assistant in an apartment built for a college student. So don’t shoot me for no longer having faith in your judgment. And don’t think I’m unaware of your little town car trysts either.”

Miranda choked down the line, and Leslie laughed.

“I’ll get everything put in place for you both,” Leslie said, before Miranda could question her about her sources. “It should be easy enough. Upper Eastside is my territory after all, and keeping the vultures away is a lot easier when high priced lawyers are added to the equation,” Leslie said confidently. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’ve given it some thought and I want Tricia allocated as Andrea’s personal publicist,” Miranda said.

“In what capacity?”

“She’s to do whatever is necessary to protect her career, and her reputation, irrespective of its implication on me,” Miranda said seriously.

“Miranda, that’s a conflict of interest the size of the Grand Canyon. You’re one of my oldest clients. I strongly advise you approach another firm to represent Andrea.”

“No, I don’t want another firm, Leslie. You’re the best. Your people are the best. I trust that you can handle this in a way that would be beneficial to both of us.”

“You want to ensure she’s not thrown under the bus to save your ass down the line, in other words?”

“Yes, in _other_ words.”

“I’ll speak to Tricia. It shouldn’t be much of a problem, she _likes_ Andy.”

“Everybody does,” Miranda sighed, like a woman tormented. Leslie liked Miranda in these moments. She was aware she had a great privilege to be able to see the Ice Queen with her walls down, although it had certainly taken a lot of time to get where they were today.

“Oh buck up, Priestly. It’s about to get fun around here,” Leslie laughed.

“I can’t _wait_ ,” Miranda drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm before she ended the call.

Leslie shook her head, as she pulled up her assistant’s number and composed a text. _Schedule a morning meeting, and tell Tricia to bring her big guns. Operation May-December is about to get fucking interesting_ , she typed, before hitting send.

 _Fucking interesting indeed_.

* * *

Leslie sat in her conference room, tapping her fingers absently mindedly on the proposals in front of her as her staff settled into their chairs.

Matthew, her assistant walked in, carrying a tray of coffee and began distributing the cups as she began.

“Good morning everyone,” she said clearly. “I’m going to cut right to the chase, as you all know why you’re here,” she said as she pushed the proposals aside and rested her elbows on the glass conference table. “Right now we are in _very_ early days, but you know how much I despise being ill-prepared. You’ve had some time, what have you got for me?”

“We can safely assume the gay community is covered,” Patrick began, “Which is like what? Half of New York?”

“He’s right,” Tricia said, “Miranda is more like an ethereal unicorn to them than a real person, so her ability to land a woman who is more than half her age will simply be another notch in her belt,” the platinum blonde shrugged, “She’s the military dictator of a fashion magazine dating a gorgeously attractive woman, if anything this ought to increase sales.”

“What about gay _women_?” Leslie asked.

“Obviously your more extreme, PETA supporting lesbians have wanted her head on a platter for a while,” Marisa said, “However, the lesbian community is extremely loyal when someone announces they are one of their own. Although, she may want to lay off the fur a little,” the image consultant noted.

“Okay, so, as predicted, the gay community is not likely to be an issue,” Leslie said. “All Andrea will need to worry about is being inundated with toasters I suppose."

The room broke into laughter.

“How are we looking, generally speaking?” Leslie asked.

Marisa jumped in again. “Look, I’ve got to be honest, that age difference is going to kill us. It’s not small, and she’s not Hugh Hefner. Miranda is a hard sell at the best of times, and add to that the number of _flattering_ monikers she’s gained over the years, you know the press is going to be skipping with glee to have something truly substantial to tear her down a few notches with,” she said. “They didn’t hold back with the last divorce. You know how much the public loves to see a successful woman fall,” Marisa finished in disgust.

“That’s where I think Andy and the girls come in,” Tricia cut in. “If Miranda is getting them involved this early, it means we can push the family angle, _hard_. We’re in good stead; the girls are still young enough that we avoid that creep factor 42 West faced with Ashton and Rumer Willis.”

Leslie shook her head. “The twins are out, you know Miranda’s stance on this.”

“They can’t be,” Tricia said matter-of-factly. “Look, she’s going to have to make concessions this time, Les. This isn’t another run of the mill society divorce; she’s talking about dating a woman 27 years her junior, who was only 23 when she started as her assistant. This is no ‘Mrs Robinson’. Miranda has enemies. We need to put her and Andy in a position where they look functional, normal and above all else, _happy_. We need to sell them as this year’s hottest romance, make the public love them. They’re both highly attractive, feminine women. I mean, god bless their ginger souls, you know how much I love them, but this is _not_ going to be another Cynthia and Christine. These two we can sell to the romantic, bored housewives of the conservative public. If we raise them up high enough, the press won’t be able to touch them. The girls will be vital in shifting this from sordid affair to ABC Family approved.”

“All right, you make a fair point. I’ll speak to her,” Leslie sighed. “What about Andy, do we have that background check yet?”

Tricia shuffled through some papers before pulling out a report that was only a single sheet long. “The girl is golden,” she said as she handed it to Leslie. “She’s mature, well-spoken and wholesome. She’s from Ohio, smoked pot once in college and has had one steady boyfriend, followed by a brief relationship with a woman here in New York. Her job makes her look serious and committed, and her work is flawless,” Tricia said.

“Will her editor back her if shit hits the fan?” Leslie asked.

“Yes, I believe so. We do have one problem though,” Tricia said. “Miranda gave the reference that secured her the job. Personally.”

“Shit,” Leslie swore. “Why didn’t this come up earlier?”

“Ask your client,” Tricia said.

“Well, it’s hardly surprising, she was _her_ assistant,” Patrick said.

“Which would be fine under any other circumstances bar this one. Nepotism accusations have a habit of lingering,” Leslie groaned. “I know Miranda, she won’t want this girl’s career in jeopardy.”

“It’s the _Mirror_ ,” Marisa said, “Not Vanity Fair. She went in as a Junior Reporter.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Leslie said. “She moved fast, there will be questions as to how and why.”

“If I may interject here,” Patrick said, “What exactly is it we’re dealing with? A fling? I mean in all seriousness, how long can something like this last? Do you really think Miranda Priestly is going to take some 26-year-old bimbo public?”

“She’s not a bimbo,” Tricia said. “That’s the problem. She’s introducing her to her _children_ , Patrick.”

Leslie nodded in agreement. “We’re talking extraordinary circumstances here.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me. _Love,_ ” Patrick drawled, rolling his eyes.

“You’re such a cynic,” Marisa said in protest.

“No, I’m a realist. _Love_ is the destroyer of reputations, careers and lives. We’ve all seen it,” he said, before turning back to Leslie. “I must admit I’m surprised though. The Snow Queen? Who knew she had it in her?”

“Patrick,” Leslie said in warning.

“All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Patrick replied, as he shuffled through his notes. “If nepotism is one of our primary concerns for the girl then we need to hammer home that two year gap between Runway and the L'Homme launch,” he said. “Nothing is more effective than the ‘serendipitous reacquaintence’ trope. If we push Andrea’s current career to the forefront and bury that employer/employee relationship as deep as we can, I think we can nip it in the bud.”

“I agree,” Leslie said. “I think a couple of candid comments from Andy about working for Miranda might assist. Funny, self-deprecating material. We can sell their past like a best man’s speech at a wedding. The rest, I think we need to be as forthcoming as we can. We need to work strategically but openly. If we try to hide too much, the press are going to turn this into some vulgar smutfest and that’s what we absolutely have to avoid. We’re going to make them utterly normal and boring, with a healthy dose of saccharine to the point that the paps are going to be off chasing upskirt shots of Lindsay Lohan again in no time,” she said, looking around as her team nodded.

“So, what’s our current direction?” Marisa asked.

“For now, I simply wanted to be sure you were all aware of what was happening. However, as I said, it is _very_ early days. Tricia has built up a rapport with Andy, so she will be working with me for the time being. Its basic containment at present until something changes. It may fizzle out, but you all know how utterly unpredictable La Priestly is. Be ready,” Leslie said.

Everyone nodded.

“All right then. Tricia, I’ll speak to Miranda about the girls over the next couple of weeks. It might be worth letting them all get settled together before broaching it, but time will tell. Meanwhile, I want you to get a copy of that reference from the Mirror so we know what we’re dealing with,” Leslie said.

“On it,” Tricia replied.

“The rest of you,” Leslie said, taking in the faces in the room. “If you think of anything relevant, bring it to me. Otherwise you can all piss off and do some real work,” Leslie sassed as her team chuckled and began getting to their feet.

As they filtered out, Leslie picked up her coffee and took a sip, her thoughts running a mile a minute. Her team was the best, and they had made some good points.

“Do you really think its love?” Tricia asked, still lingering by the conference room door.

Leslie put her coffee down and sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Keep a close eye on Andy. Miranda is completely blind to this girl.”

“I truly don’t think she’s like that,” Tricia said.

“I’m glad,” Leslie said, and Tricia looked at her, puzzled. “She’s requested that you represent Andy,” Leslie explained.

“She _what_ _?_ ” Tricia said.

“Like I said, love,” Leslie said as she shook her head.


	18. Dining With The Priestly's

**April 2009  
(Months since Paris: 30)**

The sun was shining as she stepped out of the town car and looked up at a familiar door. It had been a long time since she had first been in this position, and she was possibly more nervous now than she had been then. Her first foray into delivering the book had not ended on a particularly good note, and she hoped like hell today ended a lot better.

The girls were an unknown. She hadn’t seen them in over two years, and aside from a few stories from Miranda, she really didn’t know what to expect.

There was a gentle pressure at her elbow, and she looked to find Roy standing next to her.

“It’s probably not advisable to spend too much time standing on the street,” Roy said, guiding her towards the stairs.

She took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to smile.

“You’ll do great,” Roy said as he guided her up to the front door of the townhouse, and opened it. “Good luck, Andy” he whispered before tipping his hat and giving her a wink, turning to leave.

Andy felt herself relax just a little as she took a step inside, closing the door gently behind herself. As she stood in the foyer, she was struck by how familiar everything was. Sure, some of the artwork had changed, but the flower arrangements were still everywhere and the doors certainly hadn’t moved since the last time she was there.

“You forget which closet it was again?” a cheeky voice sounded as one of the twins strolled into view.

The girl was certainly taller, and her face had matured more than Andy expected. Andy titled her head and eyed the girl carefully, taking in her clothing, stance and posture. She was in bare feet, a pair of jeans, and a soccer shirt. The smirk on her face was cocksure, and so very Miranda that she decided to hedge a guess and go with the ring leader she was familiar with.

“No _Caroline_ , it would be pretty hard for me to forget. You do realize you almost got me fired that night, right?” Andy said, raising her eyebrow with a smirk.

The girl lifted her chin and grinned. “Not so stupid then are you?” Caroline sassed before Miranda appeared behind her and smiled gently at Andy before turning on her daughter.

“Phone,” Miranda said sternly, holding her hand out.

The teenager rolled her eyes and pulled her iPhone out of her pocket, placing it in her mother’s outstretched hand.

Andy bit back a smirk. The look was remarkably familiar.

“Go help your sister set the table,” Miranda ordered, and Caroline groaned before disappearing back in the direction Miranda had appeared from.

Miranda shook her head, before setting her gaze on Andy. She was wearing a pair of slacks, ballet flats, and the sleeves of her cashmere sweater were rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was slightly mussed.

Andy smirked.

Miranda raised her eyebrow. “Sorry, who were you again? I seem to have forgotten.”

Andy couldn’t stop the broad smile that suddenly took over her face. It had been almost two weeks since they had seen each other, and it wasn’t until that moment that Andy realized how much she missed the older woman’s presence. Work had gotten in the way of their town car meetings, not to mention Miranda’s paranoia about Leslie watching their every move.

“Well, by all means move at a glacial pace Andrea, you know how that thrills me,” Miranda smirked as she took a step towards her.

The reporter crossed the distance, heels clipping loudly on the hardwood until her lips crashed against Miranda’s and she felt the editor’s hands wind up into her hair and pull her down firmly.

She tasted like coffee and smelt like cinnamon and all Andy could do was wrap her arms around the shorter woman, lifting her on to her tip toes as she pulled her closer.

Miranda was the first to pull away, disentangling her hands from Andy’s hair, smoothing it down as she went. Andy lowered her back down as Miranda cupped her cheek for a moment, leaning forward to place a light kiss on her lips before withdrawing and clearing her throat.

“Yes—well—“ she paused, brushing a hand through her hair before taking a deep breath and schooling her features, “Come along Andrea, the girls are waiting,” Miranda finished before turning on her heel and heading back in the direction she had come from.

Andy licked her lips and shook her head, quickly brushing her fingers through her hair and checking her make up in a nearby mirror before following after Miranda.

* * *

 

“So, how old are you?” Cassidy said straight off the bat.

“Cassidy!” Miranda barked from the stove, looking like she wanted to cut her daughters tongue out.

Cassidy Priestly had forced Andy into a seat at the head of a six seater table which rested in an open plan kitchen and dining space. It wasn’t the formal dining area, she had been informed, but they used it often on weekends. Andy liked the space. The sun filtered in through broad windows which overlooked the perfectly manicured back garden. It was pleasantly warm, and the reporter found herself relaxed.

Well, now that the shock had worn off upon finding Miranda Priestly, _cooking_. Caroline was assisting her, meanwhile Cassidy was practically sitting Andy’s lap, about to embark on what the reporter suspected would be an interrogation.

 _Well, here goes nothing_ , Andy thought. “I’m 26,” she said.

“That’s young,” Cassidy replied.

“Mom’s 53,” Caroline called knowingly from the kitchen.

“Thank you for that, Caroline,” Miranda growled.

“So that means you’re…” Cassidy began counting on her fingers.

“That will be enough of that, Cassidy,” Miranda said in warning.

“27 years younger than Mom?” Cassidy said, ignoring her mother.

Miranda looked incensed, and Andy resisted the urge to laugh. “Yes, that would be about right,” she said, unperturbed.

Cassidy seemed satisfied with Andy’s answer and moved quickly onto something else. “Why did you send that ugly Christmas card?” she said.

Andy chuckled, “I knew your mother would hate it.”

“Honestly, Andrea,” Miranda said, shaking her head as she began transferring the contents of the pan onto a plate.

“I told you so!” Cassidy yelled at Caroline, poking out her tongue.

“Cassidy, volume,” Miranda said as she turned around and dropped a pan into the sink.

Cassidy swung back to Andy.“What’s it like being a reporter? Do you get to see lots of dead bodies and stuff?”

 _Good God_ , Andy thought. The girl was bouncing from one topic to another faster than she could form thoughts. “I work Politics, so no, just boring old politicians.”

“Oh,” Cassidy crinkled nose.

“Hey, it’s not _that_ bad!” Andy protested against the judgement of the 13-year-old. “Politics is interesting!”

“But it’s not like Veronica Mars?” Cassidy asked.

“No,” Andy conceded. “It’s not quite _that_ exciting, I suppose.”

Miranda and Caroline moved their out from the kitchen area and began placing plates down on the table, as Cassidy continued to watch her with carefully veiled curiosity. The girl had blue eyes that held the same piercing quality as Miranda’s, and Andy felt like she was under a microscope.

Whatever the girl had been looking, she apparently found as she turned away and picked up her orange juice, taking a big gulp. Apparently the conversation was over for the time being.

“Slow down,” Miranda ordered Cassidy as she set down the last of the dishes on the table. She shot another glance at her daughter before raising her eyebrow at Andy in question.

Andy simply shrugged and smiled, and Miranda looked mildly relieved.

The editor-in-chief moved to take a seat next to Andy, only to have Caroline leap into it before she had a chance to sit. Miranda rolled her eyes. “Well, by all means, Caroline,” she sighed, waving her hand in faux invitation as she moved back to the kitchen.

Andy faced her second interrogator, who was eyeing her with interest equal to that of her sister. However this time, Andy felt suspiciously like prey. Where Cassidy appeared calculating, Caroline appeared predatory. Dealing with the two girls was like facing multiple facets of Miranda’s personality in different bodies. The girls had so much of their mother that it was uncanny.

Miranda moved up behind her and poured coffee into her waiting mug. “I did warn you,” she said under her breath as she leant down, before moving away to take a seat on Caroline’s left, abandoning Andy to the wolves.

“Do you like soccer?” Caroline asked, reaching for a pair of tongs and twirling them idly in her hand. The girl looked like she was wielding a weapon as she watched Andy like a hawk.

 _She’s a teenager_ , Andy reminded herself as she sat back in her chair, lifting her coffee to her lips with an air of nonchalance. “I played varsity,” she said casually.

“High school or college?” Caroline demanded.

“Both,” Andy said

“What college?” Caroline asked.

“Northwestern,” Andy replied as she blew gently on the liquid in the mug before taking a sip.

Caroline thought about this for a moment, and after apparently deciding Northwestern was respectable enough, she started again. “Position?”

“Midfield, attacker usually,” Andy replied, as she shot Miranda a look of thanks for the coffee.

Miranda nodded lightly before her eyes raised skyward. Caroline was speaking again.

“Playmaker!? No way, you’re too tall, you’d be too slow,” Caroline protested.

Andy shrugged her shoulders as she took another sip of her coffee.

“I don’t believe you,” Caroline said in accusation. “Prove it!”

“ _Caroline_ ,” Miranda said in warning, her eyes snapping towards her daughter. “That’s enough.”

Caroline ignored her and pressed further, and Andy had to admire her ability to ignore a warning from Miranda. “We have a net in the yard. Put your money where your mouth is,” Caroline said.

“Caroline!” Miranda barked.

“You’re on, _shorty_ ,” Andy said simultaneously.

“Andrea!” Miranda said then, and Caroline grinned in victory, Cassidy laughed and Miranda flashed her a glare that screamed, _don’t encourage her!_

Andy winced apologetically. “Did I ever tell you I was competitive?” she said weakly.

Miranda rolled her eyes.“Alright, that will do,” she said. “ _Both_ of you. Now eat, before it gets cold,” she ordered, pulling the tongs out of Caroline’s grip and dishing up the teenagers plate. “And that includes you, Miss Sachs,” she said, looking at Andy.

The reporter laughed before stabbing her fork in piece of cinnamon French toast and lifting it over to her plate.

When everyone had a plate in front of them Andy cocked an eyebrow in Miranda’s direction.“This is a lot of food for four people Miranda,” she noted wryly.

“Well, we have to feed Patricia,” the editor sniffed, ignoring her tone.

Caroline leaned over to Andy, “She didn’t know what you liked,” the red-head whispered.

“I figured as much,” Andy whispered back with a wink.

She turned to Miranda and smiled; the editor simply picked up her coffee and took a sip, ignoring the alliance that was quickly forming against her.

* * *

“She’s not exactly dressed for it, Caroline,” Miranda scolded as her eldest dragged Andrea through the townhouse, “And can you please stop manhandling Andrea?”

Caroline smirked. “You jealous?” her daughter sassed.

Cassidy snorted, and Miranda saw the faint hint of a blush on Andrea’s cheeks.

“Caroline Alexandra Priestly, one more of those clever little comments today and I won’t stop until every piece of technology has been stripped from your room,” she said, her voice low in warning.

“Sorry,” Caroline replied, with a severe lack of sincerity as she dropped the reporter’s arm.

Miranda rolled her eyes. She was aware she had been letting the girl away with far too much today in an attempt to give the girls an unrestricted opportunity to get to know Andrea.

The elder of the two twins made her way out in to the back garden first, finding her ball and rolling it under her foot suggestively.

As Andrea stepped out of the doorway, the ball came flying immediately in her direction, causing Miranda to flinch. “Caroline! Nintento. Gone,” she barked, even as Andrea caught the ball easily with a smirk.

“Hope it was worth it,” Andrea said in a sing-song voice, squeezing Miranda’s elbow gently, placating her before stepping out of her heels.

“Andrea, what are you doing?” Miranda asked as the reporter stepped down onto the grass, bare foot.

“Playing soccer,” Andrea said nonchalantly as she dropped the ball, caught it on her foot and then reached up to tie back her hair.

“I thought you were joking,” Miranda said.

“Nope,” the reporter shot back over her shoulder as she proceeded to roll up the sleeves of her blouse. She was wearing skin tight jeans and cut a striking figure as she squared her shoulders and then titled her head as Caroline moved to defend goal, sensing a challenge.

“You ready?” Andrea asked.

Miranda watched as Caroline smirked smugly and nodded. As she watched Andrea test the ball and maneuver it between her feet, she had a distinct feeling her daughter was going to regret being so cocky.

Andrea moved quicker than even Miranda expected, taking off without warning and outmaneuvering her daughter, the ball landing easily in goal. She chuckled as she took in the shocked expression on her eldest daughters face as Caroline stared wide-eyed at Andrea.

Cassidy exploded in laughter next to her. “She kicked your _ass_!”

“Language,” Miranda scolded out of habit, but she couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice.

“Beginners luck,” Caroline scoffed, recovering herself. “Again,” she demanded.

After ten minutes, Caroline was gasping for breath and hadn’t managed a single goal against Andrea. It was at that point Cassidy moved towards her boots.

“Cassidy, stay put. I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? Andrea came for brunch, not a football tournament,” she said.

“It’s soccer, Mom,” Cassidy said as she secured her second boot and jumped to her feet.

“Its fine, Miranda, honestly,” Andrea said, waving her off.

“You’re as bad as the two of them,” Miranda said, shaking her head.

After twenty minutes, Miranda could see Andrea struggling to keep up against both of her daughters. _Serves her right,_ she thought, even as she stepped down onto the grass and intercepted the ball. “All right, that’s enough you three,” she said in a tone that brokered no argument.

Andrea looked at her in relief.

Miranda turned to the girls. “Go get cleaned up,” she said, even as Caroline groaned. “And there will be no more of _that_ ,” she said in regard to the sulking. “You had your fun.”

As the girls disappeared inside, Andrea flopped onto the ground in exhaustion. “God, they’re quick,” she moaned, as she attempted to recover her breathing.

“Too much time behind a desk, Andrea?” Miranda said in mocking.

“Very funny,” the reporter glared.

“Come on,” she said, walking over and holding out a hand. “I have a number of spare blouses inside. You may be a football player but I refuse to have you smelling like one.”

Andrea smiled up at her, reaching to take her hand and pull herself to her feet. As she winced slightly, Miranda raised an eyebrow. “I have no sympathy,” the editor-in-chief said. “Next time don’t let Caroline goad you.”

“It was fun, even if I’m being reminded of my age,” Andrea said.

Miranda scoffed at the comment coming from the mouth of the _26_ year old. “Yes, of _course_ , Andrea. _Your_ age,” she said.

Andrea laughed as they walked shoulder to shoulder, back towards the house. When she stopped to pick up her heels, the reporter paused.

“They’re really great, Miranda,” she said with a smile.

“Even after all that?” Miranda said in amusement, although she couldn’t ignore the pride she felt at the comment.

“Yes, even after all that,” Andrea chuckled, as she slipped her arm through Miranda’s and they walked inside.


	19. All Good Things

“Where have you been?” a voice demanded down the phone, and Andy winced when she remembered she had promised Emily she would catch up with her…weeks ago. Before New York fashion week, in fact.

She pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the date. April 16. _More like months ago_ , she winced.

“God, Em, I’m sorry. I’ve been a little tied up,” Andy apologized as she paid for her bagel and walked out onto the street.

“Dare I ask?” Emily said, a hint of disgust in her tone.

Andy laughed. “Do you want to catch up this week? I really am sorry I haven’t been in touch. I really have been busy with the state congressional since you all got back from Paris.”

“Fine, fine,” Emily said. “Nigel wants to see you too. Drinks on Friday?”

Andy did a quick run through her schedule in her head. “You mean tomorrow?”

“No, Andrea. I mean in 6 months’ time. Of course I bloody mean tomorrow.”

“All right, all right. How’s 8:00pm?”

“Should work. Right, I’ll call you later,” Emily said before ending the call.

Even after leaving Miranda’s office the red-head still hadn’t managed to shake some of the bad habits she’d picked up, and Andy shook her head, taking a bite of her bagel.

 _April 16. April 16._ Why was that bother—  
  
“Oh, fuck!” Andy swore. “Shit. Shit, shit, _shit!_ ”

A woman glared at her and she ignored it, grabbing her phone and dialing Nigel. “Shit!” she swore again.

“Nigel Kipling’s office,” his assistant said snappily.

“Lana? It’s Andy Sachs, is he available?” Andy said quickly.

“Not right now, Andy. He’s in meetings all afternoon, but I can get him to call you when he’s out. Is it urgent?” Lana asked.

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Andy said. “Actually, tell him not to worry about it, I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, Andy,” Lana said before hanging up.

“ _Shit_ ,” Andy swore again, before she took a stress bite from her bagel, turning back in the direction of her office. She had forgotten the twins’ birthday was on Tuesday, and it was now Thursday. Things had been going exceptionally well so far, but she had little doubt that forgetting a birthday could throw a spanner in the works.

What did 14-year-olds like? She thought back two plus years, and the only thing that sprung to mind was Harry-fucking-Potter.

_Harry Potter._

Andy stuffed the rest of her bagel in her mouth and dialed Amy’s direct line.

“Miranda Priestly’s office,” a familiar voice greeted her.

“Amy, it’s Andy,” she said.

“Oh no, what is it? She’s had a bad afternoon, I’d prefer not to have to give her more bad news,” Amy groaned.

“No, no. Nothing like that. In fact, don’t even tell her I called. I just need to know if the twins are still interested in Harry Potter,” Andy asked.

“How on Earth should I know?” Amy said.

“It’s your job to know,” Andy sassed back. “Or at least it was mine and Emily’s.”

“Look, I vaguely recall some mention about the next movie, but it’s not out for another 3 months,” Amy said matter-of-factly.

“That’s fine. Thanks, Amy,” Andy said before hanging up.

As she tossed her empty wrapper in trash can, she pulled up another contact.

“Tricia? It’s Andy Sachs. Everything is fine, but I have a favour to ask you.”

* * *

 

  
“Spill,” Nigel said the second he sat down, and Emily rolled her eyes.

“I just finished work, can’t I have a single night off that doesn’t involve Miranda-bloody-Priestly,” Emily groused, getting up from the table to go to the bar.

Nigel stared after the red-head. “What’s her problem?” he said, as he watched the Assistant Creative Director storm off.

“Bad day at the office,” Andy said, waving it off. “She’ll be fine.”

Nigel shrugged. “I haven’t heard a word from you, Six. And to think, after all I did for you,” he lamented.

“Well, I suppose it’s about time I said thank you,” Andy said.

“Yes, you should. You look good by the way, and the Devil has been quite amendable, so all in all in turned out to be beneficial for us all,” Nigel chuckled.

“Yeah, I think it did,” Andy smiled shyly.

“Oh good lord, she’s smitten. What has come of the world?” Nigel said dramatically, clutching his chest as Emily returned, dumping a tray of drinks down in the centre of the table.

“Are you two finished yet?” Emily said, as she took her seat.

“I was just saying how _happy_ Andy looks. Doesn’t she look _happy_ Emily?” Nigel said with a mischievous grin as he picked up his glass.

“Well, she could have worked some of that _happiness_ on her _girlfriend_ today,” Emily snapped.

Andy glared in warning.

“Oh do calm down Andrea, no one knows what we’re talking about, and you’ve confirmed nothing. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Emily said.

“All right, all right you two. Let’s table that discussion for the time being,” Nigel said.

“Thank _god_ ,” Emily said, and Andy rolled her eyes.

“I do believe we have at least two months of gossip to catch up on,” Nigel said as he raised his glass in toast.

“Must you always be such a stereotype, Nigel?” Emily said, biting back a smirk.

“God, I’ve missed you two,” Andy laughed, clinking her glass up against Nigel’s.

“Sap,” Emily said, as she nudged Andy with her shoulder, a smile on her face.

* * *

“Can Andy come to our birthday dinner?” Cassidy said.

“Hmm?” Miranda said, as she looked up from the Book. It was Friday and she and Cassidy were alone for the evening. Caroline had decided to go to a friend’s house, and Miranda thought it would be a good opportunity to spend some time alone with her youngest by twenty three minutes. Things had been quite hectic, and it wasn’t often she got to spend time with the quieter of two twins. It wasn’t uncommon for Caroline to do the majority of the talking, and Miranda was always wary of treating the girls as a single entity.

“I said, can Andy come to our dinner on Tuesday?” Cassidy repeated, peeking over the top of the novel she was reading. “I know you probably don’t want her at the party next Saturday, but it’ll only be us on Tuesday.”

Miranda closed the Book and put it off to one side. She had a tendency to forget just how perceptive Cassidy was. Caroline had been extremely outspoken about Andrea, ecstatic about inheriting a new soccer coach and enjoying teasing her about her age. Andrea was a great novelty for the time being. In comparison, Cassidy had been strangely quiet about the whole thing, as though reserving judgment.

If Miranda was honest, it made her nervous. Although the opinions of both of the girls counted in the matter, Caroline had a tendency to make rash decisions, have dramatic outbursts, and had a habit of changing her mind on a whim. She was very much like Miranda when she was younger, until she had trained herself in the art of the iron-clad self-control she was now famous for.

Although there had admittedly been a few slips in that façade in the last six months.

Cassidy on the other hand was more cautious, and calculating. Once she had her mind set on something, she was like an immovable force. She followed along with Caroline’s hare-brained schemes, and was still just as cheeky in her own way, but there was a sharp intelligence there which had always made Miranda a little wary.

“I can certainly ask her if you would like. Have you spoken to Caroline about this?” Miranda enquired.

Cassidy shrugged. “She won’t care.”

“She might,” Miranda said, getting to her feet and moving to sit at the end of the sofa her daughter was sprawled out on, pushing her glasses up onto her head as she sat down.

“She likes Andy,” Cassidy said.

“As I’ve heard. Multiple times. And you?” Miranda said, holding her daughters eyes.

“She’s nice,” Cassidy said.

Miranda stayed silent, waiting to see if her youngest would be more forthcoming.

“She’s smart, and she talks to me about stuff,” Cassidy said.

“ _Stuff?_ ” Miranda queried.

“You know, politics and things. And she gave me a book, because she thought I might like it.”

“So you don’t mind me spending time with her?” Miranda said.

“No, why would I?”

“That’s a good question. However, if you have any concerns, I want you to know you can come to me at any time,” Miranda said seriously.

Cassidy nodded. “So, you’ll ask her?”

“Yes, I’ll ask her,” Miranda confirmed.

She watched as her daughter looked satisfied by that, before she turned back to her book. _Pride and Prejudice_. Miranda shook her head. It appeared her youngest and Andrea shared an equal passion for ridiculous love stories. However, she counted her blessings that Elizabeth Bennet was at least a reasonable role model.

* * *

 

After Cassidy went to bed, Miranda picked up her phone and dialled Andrea.

“ _Ahhhndreyah_ ’s phone,” a voice drawled down the line.

“Emily?” Miranda said before she could stop herself.

“Oh, fuck! Bloody hell!”

“Eloquent,” Miranda said. “Put Andrea on please.”

“Hello?” a familiar voice said down the line.

“Did my Assistant Creative Director just mock me?” Miranda asked.

Andrea laughed down the line. “I do believe she did.”

“You cow!” A voice echoed out in the background, and Miranda rolled her eyes. “Where _are_ you?” Miranda asked.

“With Nigel and Emily, having a few cocktails,” Andrea replied.

She sounded merry enough that Miranda considered questioning the _few_ , but thought better of it. “Yes, well do be careful, Nigel has a habit of coaxing people under the influence into saying things they sincerely regret the following day,” she said in warning.

“I have a suspicion there’s a story behind that statement, M,” Andy chuckled.

“Not one you’ll ever hear, I can assure you,” Miranda said sternly.

“Who’s that?” a male voice enquired in the background.

“No one,” Andrea said.

“Bullshit,” she heard Nigel say, before there was an apparent scuffle over the phone. “Hello my dear old friend, and just where might you be this evening?” Nigel said.

“At home, which is where all of you should be by the sounds of it,” she said sarcastically.

“You should join us,” Nigel said.

“I have Cassidy this evening, and I think Andrea and Emily are making enough of a dent in your credit card without the addition of mine,” Miranda said. “Now, put Andrea back on.”

“You might have a good point there,” he laughed before handing the phone off.

“Sorry about that,” Andrea said. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Go and have a good night, but remember what I said about Nigel,” she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I consider myself warned,” Andrea replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m home.”

“Thank you, I would appreciate that,” Miranda said sincerely. “Goodnight, Andrea”

“Goodnight, M,” the woman replied before she ended the call.

Miranda shook her head. She would simply have to ask her tomorrow.

* * *

 

As Miranda made gently folded the omelette in the pan, she heard her phone go on the bench behind her.

“Cassidy, can you get that? It might be important,” Miranda said as she moved to grab the plates she was heating out of the oven.

“It’s Leslie,” Cassidy said.

“Answer it,” Miranda said quickly, as she flicked off the stove and moved quickly to grab the phone from her daughter, barely dodging Patricia in her haste.

“What is it?” she snapped, her heart rate flying through the roof.

“Whoa, morning to you too,” Leslie replied down the line as Miranda walked out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “Relax Miranda, this is just a courtesy call. Sorry, I didn’t mean to set off alarm bells.”

Miranda took a deep breath and composed herself.

“I just thought I would check in. I’m in the office today, seemed as good a time as any,” Leslie explained with a chuckle.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, Leslie,” Miranda said waspishly.

“Glad to see you’ve got that heart attack under control,” Leslie said. “I noticed the girls’ birthday is coming up. I had my assistant send something,” she said.

“How very thoughtful,” Miranda said sarcastically.

“I was interested to know how Andrea was going to be involved there,” Leslie said. “As I seem to spending a lot of time speaking to _Amy_ lately,” she said knowingly.

“Yes, well I’ve been busy Leslie, as you’re well aware,” Miranda said.

“Oh that’s good, I was honestly beginning to think you were avoiding me because of my suggestion last week,” Leslie said bluntly.

Miranda bristled.

“I don’t have time to discuss it this morning Leslie, call my office on Monday,” Miranda said.

“No, I think we should discuss it right now, Miranda. You wanted to be kept in the loop, and being in the loop means not burying your head in the sand.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Miranda bristled.

“Well fine, then give me five minutes to explain why I think we need to bring the girls in on this, and you might reconsider your answer,” Leslie said.

“There will be no reconsidering on this matter, Leslie. My thoughts are exactly the same as they have been since the day I took you on as my representation. I don’t know why you insist on pressing the issue,” Miranda snapped.

“Miran—“ Leslie began.

“No. Come up with something else,” Miranda said curtly, before ending the call.

Her phone began ringing again but she ignored it. She knew exactly what Leslie had in mind. She had contacted her last week to discuss the strategy her and Tricia had devised. Cart them out like one big happy family; picnics in the park, walking the dog – Her, Andrea and the girls would be a veritable Hallmark card.

She had said no then, and she had meant it.

Patricia groaned, causing Miranda to jump. Apparently the dog had tailed her out into the foyer. The St. Bernard dropped ungracefully onto the Persian rug Miranda had acquired for the foyer. She couldn’t care less that it was hand-knotted in Iran, apparently.

“My thoughts exactly Patricia,” Miranda said, gathering her thoughts.

She had promised herself the day the twins were born that she would never parade them out for the press. Of course, back then there was some distance and respect granted to public figures, particularly in New York. The dawn of the internet and the increased pace of the news had torn that unspoken agreement asunder. However, she had succeeded thus far.

Miranda turned to look at the door she had exited not five minutes ago and thought of the almost 14-year-old behind it. She then thought about the screens of young women who had fallen spectacularly off the wagon with the whole world lying in wait to lap up the photos.

Right now her persona eclipsed the two red-heads. The press didn’t care about the two barely teenaged girls behind her. They were boring. They went to school, they came home, did their homework, and played soccer on weekends. They weren’t stumbling drunk out of clubs all over the city or having very public meltdowns, and Miranda intended to keep it that way.

No, the press could write what they wanted about her, but she was not involving the girls.

Her phone rang for a third time and she steeled herself, picking it up. “This conversation is over, Leslie,” Miranda said curtly.

“Look, don’t hang up. I _know_ you don’t want to use them, Miranda,” Leslie began, “But can you at least hear me out?”

Miranda sighed.

“Look, happy families are boring. An attractive young woman hanging off the arm of a much older, well established, wealthy woman is not,” Leslie said. “And although it will certainly have its impact on you Miranda, it’s not _you_ I’m worried about.”

“Andrea,” Miranda said solemnly.

“And I quote, ‘If you don’t hire her, you’re an idiot’,” Leslie said.

“How on Earth did you get that?” Miranda demanded.

“It doesn’t matter how I got it. One reference Miranda. Just one reference and there are going to be serious questions about how Andy managed to rise so quickly and so fast. Senior Politics Correspondent? Less than two years? Unfortunately, the way this looks, she has a lot to gain from this relationship. The reason Tricia is pushing for so hard for the girls is because it drastically softens that angle. People don’t spend time with someone’s kids if they’re just after a career boost, or money,” Leslie said matter-of-factly. “I know you don’t want to think about it right now, but these are things you are _both_ going to have to consider if you ever want to go public; and that’s assuming you are given a _choice_ in the matter.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that it’s Andrea or the girls?” Miranda said.

“No, what I’m telling you is that right now is that our biggest unknown is how the public will take to Andy. Tricia is confident her image and her work will hold up to scrutiny, I mean there’s little doubt that the girl is a talented writer, but I have a little less faith in the idiots of America. She’s been in the game for a little over two years. She’s not established. Something like this could destroy what little she’s managed to build. You hired Tricia to protect her. This is what Tricia is suggesting. I just want you to be aware of all of the options on the table, and our reasons for choosing them,” Leslie finished, tactfully.

“How very _diplomatic_ ,” Miranda said, a hint of anger in her voice.

At that moment Cassidy poked her head out. “The omelettes are getting cold,” she said.

Miranda stared at her daughter. The twins didn’t have a care in the world outside of the fortress Miranda had built around their lives since the divorce. She had worked so hard to make them a family again, to give them a happy life with as few interruptions as she could manage with her work commitments. Things were better than they had ever been, and for the first time since she had decided to bring Andrea into their lives, she realized she might be putting all of that at risk.

Not to mention Andrea’s career.

The sliver of doubt which she had been so readily ignoring began to worm its way back into her mind.

“Yes, thank you Bobbsey,” she said, “I’ll be there shortly.”

Cassidy nodded and went back into the kitchen.  
  
She stared at the door her daughter had just come through.

Yes, Andrea was important to her. _Very_ important.

However, the girls were her life. She wouldn’t put them in firing line.

“I won’t do it Leslie, and that’s the last time we’re going to discuss it,” Miranda said with a resounding finality.

“Okay,” Leslie said. “Well, we’ll just keep moving along as we have been for now, and I’ll let Tricia know it’s off the table. She will have to consult with Andrea on this, just so you’re aware,” Leslie said.

“Of course,” Miranda said.

“Can I speak plainly, as your friend for a moment?” Leslie asked.

“Go ahead,” Miranda sighed.

“I know I warned you off her, but I like Andrea. I’m also beginning to think she would throw it all away for you,” Leslie said, the warning clear.

“I understand Leslie,” Miranda said, leaning heavily against the bannister.

“All right. I’ll let you get back to it,” Leslie said, ending the call.

Leslie may have gone, but her words were ringing loudly in Miranda’s ears.

* * *

As Miranda and Cassidy finally sat down to their breakfast, her phone rang again.

“It’s Andy,” Cassidy said with a smile as she looked at the display, reaching for the phone.

Miranda was faster however, hitting ignore.

Cassidy looked at her, puzzled.

“I’ll call her back after breakfast,” Miranda said, forcing a smile towards her daughter.

Cassidy eyed her for a moment before shrugging. “Don’t forget to ask her,” she said, cutting a piece off her omelette and plopping it in her mouth.

“Of course,” Miranda said evenly as she turned back towards her breakfast.

Having Andrea at the girl’s birthday was now the furthest thing from her mind.

In fact, all she could think of was how to get Andrea as far away from this situation as possible. She should never have listened to the reporter’s protests that night in her apartment. She should have gone with her gut instinct then and there. This _was_ a mistake, and one that could have damaging consequences for all of them.

She should _never_ have allowed it to go this far.

* * *

As Miranda got into bed that evening, her phone vibrated next to her.

She picked it up and swiped to open the message.

 _Hey, everything okay? I was positive you would want to rub my nose in the fact I’ve been ill for almost an entire day :p Sorry if I was a bit of a mess last night!_ The message read.

Miranda felt the guilt clench at her stomach, and her hand started to tremble. There was a heavy weight in her chest as she hit reply. _Everything is fine. Caroline came home and I got a call from work. Just busy, you were fine. I’m just heading to bed, I’ll speak to you soon. Goodnight,_ she typed before hitting send.

The response came moments later. _Fine? God you must have been busy, I’m almost disappointed to be let off so easily. Sleep well, M. xx_

Miranda clapped a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened to escape from her chest.

No, she should _never_ have allowed it to go this far.

* * *

Andy stared at her phone.

Something was up.

She didn’t know what it was, but something had happened between the time she had spoken to Miranda on Friday night and when she had tried to call her on Saturday.

It was now Sunday evening and she still hadn’t heard from the editor-in-chief.

She stared at the bootleg copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which Tricia had managed to secure for her. The twins’ birthday was in two days. At this rate she would have to courier their gift to them.

She couldn’t for the life of her work out what on Earth she could have possibly done to be met with the wall of silence that had suddenly erected itself in their relationship.

There was only one thing she knew for certain and that was that Miranda Priestly was avoiding her.

Andy tossed her phone to the side. If the editor needed some space, she would give it to her. It had only been a day really, perhaps she was legitimately busy.

Something told her that wasn’t the case, but she chose to ignore it for the time being.

* * *

 

  
“You okay?” Alice said.

It was Monday morning, and Andy was agitated. She had tried calling Miranda at the office this morning, but had been fielded by Amy. It had been her third attempt to contact the editor-in-chief, after being directed straight to voicemail on her personal cell, twice.

“No,” Andy said.

“Jesus, you look like shit, what’s going on?” Alice said.

“That’s the problem, I don’t know,” Andy said, as her cell began ringing. “Sorry Al, I really need to take this.”

“Hey, go ahead. You know where I am if you need me,” Alice said.

Andy nodded in thanks before answering. “Tricia, what the hell is going on?”

“Andy? I don’t know what yo—wait—hold on. Have you spoken to Miranda at all? I assumed she would have called you. I’m just following up on Leslie’s phone call from Saturday,” Tricia said.

“Saturday?” Andy said.

“Yes. What’s going on Andy?” Tricia.

“You tell me. I haven’t heard barely a thing from Miranda since Friday,” Andy said.

“Oh,” Tricia said quietly.

“Yes, _oh_. It sounds like you know more about this than I do.”

“All I know is Leslie spoke to her on Saturday in regards to future strategy. I was pushing Leslie to try and get Miranda on board with involving the girls a little. Just for a couple of photos,” Tricia explained.

“Well I can predict what the answer to that one would have been,” Andy scoffed. “That doesn’t solve my problem though.”

“Well actually it might,” Tricia said. “The reason I really wanted the girls was to protect _you_ ,” the publicist said.

Andy fell silent for a moment. “That _idiot_ ,” she said finally.

“I’m _sorry_?” Tricia said.

“Not Leslie, _Miranda_ ,” Andy explained. “Tricia, thanks for your call. I’ll talk to you soon,” she said before ending the call and dialling Miranda’s personal cell again.

As it clicked over to voicemail once again, Andy tried to reign in her anger. “Miranda, you can’t avoid me forever. I spoke to Tricia this morning. Call me back. If you think this is going to work you’ve got another thing coming,” she finished curtly before ending the call.

* * *

Miranda listened to the message before putting her phone down next to the copy she had been looking over.

Apparently she had been less than subtle in her avoidance tactics.

Miranda had thought staying away would help her get a clear perspective on the situation. However, her mind had been going around in circles for two days and kept coming back to only one logical solution. _End it._

It didn’t matter which way she sliced it, not a single situation was viable long term.

They could go public without involving the girls, causing irreparable damage to Andrea’s career.

She could put the girls in the line of fire, with absolutely no guarantee it would help anyway.

Alternatively, they could carry on in secret until both of them grew so tired of sneaking around that it broke them; or the press found out and blew all of their lives to hell, putting Andrea and the girls in the centre of the battlefield anyway.

Miranda knew that some battles weren’t worth pursuing. Sometimes the cost was too high, and this time, it was much higher than she was willing to pay. She wouldn’t put the people she loved at risk like this.

It was better for all involved if they ended it right now, before she found herself any more attached to silly girl.

She reached for her phone and called Andrea back.

“She lives,” Andy sassed down the phone, the anger evident in her voice.

“Can you come to the townhouse this evening?"  
  
“Yes, what time?”

“After the girls have gone to bed, preferably. I’ll have Roy pick you up.”

“For fu—“

“Tonight,” Miranda said. “I don’t want to have this discussion over the phone,” she said before ending the call.

As Miranda put her phone back on her desk, she took a deep breath and clenched her fist to steady the tremble that had crept in.

It wouldn’t do to fall apart now.

* * *

Andy walked into the townhouse with zero trepidation and a shit tonne of anger. It was after 11:00pm and the house was quiet. The girls were definitely in bed.

Hedging a guess, she headed directly for the study, and as the door opened on her approach, Andy immediately noted the rigid posture and business like demeanor before her as Miranda beckoned her in with a polite, “Come in, Andrea.”

La Priestly was in the house and Andy resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the older woman as she closed the door. She had seen Miranda naked, clinging desperately to the sheets as she moaned and begged for more, and she expected the Snow Queen act to fly? Not likely.

“Before we beg—”

“Oh, stop with the bullshit, Miranda. Let’s cut straight to the chase shall we? I’m well aware you have no intention of involving the girls in this. That has _always_ been your position, as I have reaffirmed with Tricia this morning.”

“Yes, we—“

“No. Let-me- _finish_. I would _never_ expect you to put the girls on the line for me.”

“Your career will be left in tatters,” Miranda said curtly.

“My career will be _fine_. What are you? A fortune teller? You can’t predict that,” Andy snapped as she stepped into Miranda’s personal space, forcing the editor to take a step back towards her desk. “Was that your grand plan? Matyr yourself out over my career? Can I just reiterate myself for a moment? _My_ career. So how about you let _me_ make the decisions,” Andy said sharply. “They should give you an Oscar. You certainly deserve it for this unnecessarily dramatic performance.”

Miranda bristled, but Andy ignored her, taking another step forward until the backs of Miranda’s thighs hit her desk.

Andy stared straight at the editor, her breathing heavy, before she launched forward and pressed her lips firmly against Miranda’s.

It wasn’t gentle.  
  
Hurt, anger, relief, fear, and a culmination of a hundred other different emotions forced their way into the exchange and Andy soon found the tables turned as Miranda pushed herself forcefully away from the desk before slamming Andy back against it.

The reporter moaned as the highly polished wood dug painfully into her thighs as Miranda forced her legs apart so she could step in between them. She pushed Andy’s blazer off her shoulders and tore her shirt out of her dress pants and scrambled to undo the buttons.

It was frantic, and desperate, but she pushed any doubts aside as she assisted the editor in divesting her of her clothing. Her shirt had barely hit the floor before her bra quickly followed.

Miranda pushed her back over the desk and Andy moaned as the editor-in-chief latched her mouth around an already taut nipple while her hands began unbuckling Andy’s belt.

Miranda pulled away from her breast, only to force their lips together once more. Andy could taste the sharp, metallic tang of blood even as she felt Miranda’s hand slip beneath the hemline of her underwear and then press two fingers deep inside before she even had a chance to protest.

She gripped the edge of the desk desperately as Miranda fucked her forcefully. The editor-in-chief growled before using her thigh to increase the strength of her thrusts. She swallowed Andy’s moans as she began crying against her lips and grinding desperately against her palm.

“Miranda,” she cried desperately as the editor pressed impossibly deeper. She was relentless, giving no quarter as she drove into her insistently until Andy felt her muscles clamp down, catching her off guard before throwing her straight over the cliff.

* * *

They were both breathing heavily.

Miranda was resting her forehead against Andrea’s, her fingers still embedded deeply in the young reporter. She could feel the warmth trickling down her hand, and watched as Andrea winced, letting out a whimper as she gently withdrew.

She backed away, holding her damp hand away from her body like it was weapon over which she had no control.

Andrea was staring straight at her, watching her and Miranda saw the fear begin to creep into the reporter’s features.

“Miranda,” Andrea said desperately then. “Don’t do this.”

The editor-in-chief raised her hand and drew it shakily across her brow. She took in the half naked 26-year-old leaning back against her desk, her career dangling by a thread.

Andrea Elizabeth Sachs was ready to sacrifice her dream of being in the trenches, fighting the good fight, and for what? For a thrice divorced, 53-year-old woman with two children and a big dog.  
  
_No_ , Miranda thought. _Absolutely not._ “I’m sorry Andrea, I can’t do this,” she said.

Andrea stared at her.  
  
“Miran—“ she began again, the pleading note in her tone cutting straight through to Miranda’s chest.

“No,” Miranda said sternly, taking a deep breath and straightening her spine. “Andrea, I need you to leave.”

“Miranda, for Christ’s sake! Can you just calm down for one minute and think about this?” Andrea demanded, the anger returning  
  
“Don’t you get it?” Miranda snapped. “I _have_ thought about this. This was a mistake Andrea. _You_ were a _mistake._ I don’t know what on Earth I was thinking,” she said, taking a breath and drawing herself up to full height.

 _You’re an awful human being_ , she thought, even as she school her features and stared down at her damp hand with disgust, wiping it on her skirt with a sneer. “A 26 year old ex- _employee_? Whilst your _services_ were quite enjoyable, Andrea, I think we’re done here,” Miranda finished, before turning and walking towards the door.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Miranda,” Andrea said in quiet anger.

Miranda opened the door and turned. “You can see yourself out,” she said coldly, before passing out of the door and closing it firmly behind her.

* * *

Andy stood there, abandoned in the study, her body firing with rage and her mind gripped in disbelief. She felt a chill settle across her body as the sweat cooled across her chest.

Reaching down she grabbed her clothes and threw them back on before leaving the study, and Miranda, for good.


	20. Over

Caroline strolled into Cassidy’s room and shut the door behind her.

“Hey!” the younger twin yelled, scrambling to cover herself.

Caroline stared at her, “Seriously?” she said, raising her eyebrow. “You know we’re twins right? I’ve seen them,” she said she pulled her shoulders back, pressing out her chest. “This is great right? I didn’t think they’d _ever_ come.”

“What do you want?” Cassidy said as she still clung to her towel.

“Andy was here last night,” Caroline said matter-of-factly.

Cassidy’s face turned solemn. She was well aware.

“She drove her off, didn’t she?” Caroline sighed.

“Did you see anything? I didn’t want to come out,” Cassidy asked.

“I heard yelling from the study. Saw Andy leave. She looked pissed,” Caroline said. “You know, I could have dealt with having her around. She wasn’t an idiot and she was _okay_ at soccer.” Cassidy raised her eyebrows at that, but Caroline ignored her and carried on, “I hope we don’t end up with some Wall Street suit again,” Caroline sighed, “I can’t handle anymore finance talk at the dinner table.”

“They had an argument. It doesn’t mean it’s _over_ ,” Cassidy protested.

“Mom ended it,” Caroline said. “I heard her. _Mistake_ , ex- _employee_.”

“Did you check on Mom?” Cassidy said.

“In _that_ mood? No _way_ ,” Caroline said.

“It isn’t over. Mom was crying in her room,” Cassidy said. “I went up later.”

“ _What_?”

“She’s devastated,” Cassidy said.

“She doesn’t _get_ devastated.”

“Well, she does now.”

“Ugh, are you sure this isn’t menopause? She’s been getting so _soft_ lately; it’s making me miss La Priestly.”

“Don’t say that,” Cassidy said.

“Why not?”

“She was happy,” Cassidy said quietly.

“You’ve been reading too many Jane Austen books,” Caroline scoffed. “I bet she’s fine.”

“We’ll see,” Cassidy said, unconvinced.

“All right, I’ll go check then,” Caroline said before darting forward and ripping Cassidy’s towel away. “Body positivity Cass!” she laughed before bolting from the room.

“Happy Birthday,” Cassidy grumbled as she bent down to pick up her towel.

* * *

Miranda stared out of her office window. The sky was picture perfect blue. Not at all a reflection on her mood.

The Book was laying open and untouched on her desk behind her, and she could hear her assistants twittering nervously outside of her office.

She hadn’t asked them for a single thing this morning and they were beginning to panic. She could _hear_ it in Amy’s tone.

She drew a deep breath and forced herself to focus. The time for moping was over. She had made her decision, just like she had made many others. It was time to move forward. This was nothing more than a blip in the first quarter of her year. Yes, she was acting awfully dramatic considering it was fling of less than four months. She pushed all of the emotion running through her brain into that deep dark place where she kept all of her lost friends, relatives, and ex-husbands.

A familiar calm settled over her.

 _Honestly_ , she thought, chastising herself as she got to her feet and walked through to her executive bathroom and looked in the mirror. _This won’t do at all_ , she thought as she took in the dark circles and puffiness around her eyes.

Miranda set to work on her face, meticulously covering up the remnants of an embarrassingly emotional woman from last night, and much of the early hours of this morning. She pulled her shoulders back and sniffed, raising her chin.

Miranda titled her head in assessment. It was a face she recognized. Calm, neutral, _cold._

Satisfied, La Priestly turned and walked back into her office.

“Amy,” she said coolly.

“Yes, Miranda?” Jane said as she popped in the doorway.

“The girls’ birthday dinner,” Miranda said.

“Everything is confirmed, the res—“

“No,” Miranda said, simply. She watched in satisfaction as Jane’s jaw dropped before she continued. “Outside. Ensure there is adequate heating; make sure the lighting is perfect. The girls like fairy lights. Also, Caroline wanted pizza last night, so I hope I don’t see any Italian this evening. That’s all,” she said before pulling the Book towards herself. She knew full well Italian was what was being catered.

She didn’t care.

* * *

“You’re sulking,” Leslie said, walking into Tricia’s office.

“I am not,” the leggy blonde bristled, uncrossing and then re-crossing her legs.

“Fine, you’re pissed at me then,” Leslie said, closing the office door.

Tricia looked up from her laptop. “You drove Miranda to the edge and gave her little choice but to jump. Did you bother to give her any alternatives? I _had_ this. You should have trusted me,” Tricia said.

“No one could predict how this would go. Miranda is my client. I had to be honest with her. She chose not to take the risk,” Leslie explained. “Despite what you might think, it was nice to see the Devil happy, but I can’t sell my good feelings to the public Tricia, and neither can you,” Leslie said curtly.

“Yes, you’re right, as _always_ , Leslie,” Tricia said sharply. “Andy called this morning to resign as our client.”

“Good. I never should have agreed to it in the first place. I don’t like conflict within my team,” Leslie said, giving the blonde a meaningful look.

Tricia sighed and looked apologetic. “Don’t you ever get tired of it, Les?”

“Tired of what?”

“All of it,” Tricia said.

“Stop letting it get to you, Tricia. This is why I hate representing the _nice_ ones. They get under your skin,” Leslie said. “It’s done. Now, I have an absolute asshole and three mistresses if you want to take your mind off it?”

The blonde grinned back at her. “Sounds perfect.”

* * *

Andy typed furiously at her computer. As she slammed her finger down on the ‘Enter’ key Alice appeared at her side.

“Trouble in paradise?” Alice sassed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Andy said matter-of-factly.

“Well, you might want to take it down a notch before I have to call IT to replace that keyboard,” Alice suggested. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.”

Andy pulled her hands back from the keyboard and rubbed her hands over her face. “Please, don’t. I really don’t want to talk about this right now,” she pleaded.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to push,” Alice said, as Andy turned to face her fully. “Christ, Andy. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just need to finish what I have and go home,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”

“I can see that. I thought it was the girls’ birthday tonight? You were flipping out over their gifts only just last, what? Thursday?”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now,” Andy said.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m done,” Andy said.

“Andy, you’re tossing in the towel a bit quick don’t you think? What, did you two have a tiff? I’m hardly surprised given who you’re dating.”

“ _Tiff_ doesn’t even come close to explaining what—you know what, never mind. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Look, if you want my advice, I’d go home, get a decent night’s sleep and try calling her tomorrow. You’d be surprised what a good eight hours will do. Things have a habit of looking a lot less cataclysmic.”

“I’m just so _angry_ ,” Andy said.

“Yep, I can see that. Sleep on it. Trust me,” Alice said sternly.

* * *

 

When Andy walked into her apartment later it was silent. She flicked on the lights, and dumped her bag and her laptop by the door, exhausted.

As she walked towards the sofa she spotted the two gifts, carefully wrapped in colourful birthday wrapping.

She had been so tied up in her own head and exhaustion this morning that she had walked straight past them. Now they were taunting her in all of their shining glory. She had intended to have them messengered to the twins today, but now she was stuck with them, at least until tomorrow.

Andy sighed and slumped down on the couch. On Friday she had been happy. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn good. Four days later and everything had somehow imploded. What’s worse was she wasn’t given any choice in the matter. She had been summarily dismissed, without vaild cause.

Andy had no idea what she was supposed to be feeling. What Miranda had done was at the height of cruelty, but certainly not beyond her capabilities. She had known full well what she was getting into when she decided to pursue La Priestly.

 _Maybe Alice was right_ , she thought as she got to her feet and looked down at the gifts. The girls’ birthday party wasn’t until Saturday. She could always get it to them for that.

Yes, she would simply call Miranda tomorrow. Yes, her reaction had been extreme, but her intent had been to protect the girls. _And you_ , a voice reminded her.

Andy took a deep breath, feeling admittedly lighter. Resolved in her plan, she made her way sluggishly towards her bedroom for a much needed night’s sleep.

* * *

Cassidy eyed her sister across the table.

Things had been pretty awkward when they arrived home to find the table set for four. Someone was going to pay for that tomorrow, and she suspected it might be Amy, for trying too hard to be ahead of the game.

Cassidy hadn’t bothered to ask her mother about Andy not being there. By now she figured she knew, that _they_ knew, that something was up.

As Caroline cut into her gourmet burger and took a bite she moaned. “This is so _good_ ,” her sister said, as sauce dripped down her chin.

“Caroline, I know it’s your birthday but that’s not an excuse to eat like an animal,” Miranda said, although there wasn’t much behind it.

Cassidy looked at her mother. She looked tired. She had done a good job on the make-up, but it couldn’t fix the dullness in her eyes.

Caroline simply shrugged and kept eating.

“Your father called. He gets in on Friday,” Miranda said.

Cassidy smiled at that. “Can we do breakfast Saturday morning?”

“If we must,” Miranda said.

“Cool,” Caroline said. “Is Andy coming?”

Cassidy looked at her sister incredulously.

“No, Andrea is busy,” Miranda said bluntly.

Caroline scoffed, but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need too, the damage was already done. Cassidy could see the tension in her mother’s shoulders as she stood up.

“I’m going to go put on something a touch warmer, do either of you need another sweater?” Miranda said.

Both of them shook their heads, as their mother moved towards the door, pausing to turn one of the gas brazier’s up to ward off the evening chill before heading inside.

Cassidy turned to face her sister. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Like I said,” Caroline said. “ _Over_. I know you liked her, but you might as well get over it. Mom will soon enough.”

* * *

Andy followed Alice’s advice, and on Wednesday evening she called.

And Thursday.

And Friday.

Every time her calls went straight to voicemail, her messages unanswered.

She got so frustrated that by Friday afternoon she called Amy and demanded that she put Miranda on the line. The assistant all but admitted she was under strict orders to screen her calls, and when Andy threatened to march down there, Amy actually informed her that Miranda had had security _reminded_ that no one was to be given a swipe card for the 13 th floor unless they had an appointment.

La Priestly had built a mile-high fortress around herself, and there was little Andy could do about it without involving anyone else or making a very public display which would do no one any good.

No, Miranda had made her rash, and frankly _stupid_ decision and she intended to stick to it.

When Andy finally got home on Friday evening and saw the gifts still sitting on the table, she removed the cards and called a messenger service to order a pick up for the morning. She needed them out of the house, and there was no point depriving the twins. Same day delivery meant the girls would at least get them at some point over the course of the day, and they would likely be lost in the mountains of other gifts.

She walked into the kitchen, tore the cards in half and threw them in the bin.

* * *

 

“You alright, Miranda?” Samuel asked as he stood next to her, mirroring her position and looking out over at their two 14-year-olds, squealing over gifts as they were unwrapped at the table.

“Yes, why do you ask?” Miranda replied, not taking her eyes off the girls’ as they both smiled with glee as they added to their hoard.

“You just look a bit tired, is everything all right at work?” her ex-husband inquired.

Miranda turned to look at him. “Just what every woman wants to hear,” she said, raising her brow.

“Hey, that’s not what I meant and you know it,” Samuel said in protest as he raised his coffee to his lips. The man was all-American in looks and charm. Dark hair, although now more grey, and a chiselled jaw. At 6 ft 2 in he towered over her. She had been determined not to marry an Englishman, and decided on what turned out to be a philandering lawyer instead. They had made a very striking couple. If she was honest, they still did. However that ship had long past sailed.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Everything is fine.”

Cara came through with more gifts and put them on the table with the rest.

“How many of these are bribes for you?” Samuel chuckled, leaning in to give her a slight nudge on the shoulder.

“Too many,” Miranda said in disgust.

“Thanks for breakfast by the way,” he said.

“Oh don’t thank me, I didn’t cook it,” Miranda replied.

“Well, all the same,” he shrugged.

“Why weren’t you this polite when we were married?” Miranda said mildly.

Samuel chuckled. “Because, _darling_ , you had my balls in a vice grip,” he said under his breath.

Miranda snorted. “I think you may have confused me with your secretary, and your personal trainer. Oh, and let us not forget the _escort_. What was her name again? _Candy?_ ” she drawled in response.

Samuel laughed loudly and the girls turned to look at them, before returning their attention back to their gifts.

“I’m glad _you_ find it funny,” Miranda said.

“Well, we’re both 3 marriages down. Who knows what the next one will bring, eh?” he winked, and Miranda felt herself involuntarily stiffen.

Samuel looked at her concern. “Hey, you know I was only joking, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Miranda said, waving him off.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s not—“

“Holy shit!” Caroline proclaimed, and Miranda’s head whipped back in the direction of the table where the girls were unwrapping their gifts.

“Caroline, _language_ ,” Miranda warned.

“It’s their birthday,” Samuel muttered.

“No, their birthday was on Tuesday. Don’t encourage them,” Miranda bit back as she walked over to the table to see what all the fuss was about.

Cassidy was glaring at her sister, and Miranda spotted the DVD case in Caroline’s hand. She had never known the girls to get so excited over a DVD of all things. She raised her brow in question.

“Who sent it!?” Caroline said, looking for a card.

“What on Earth is so fascinating about this particular DVD? I seem to recall buying you plenty and never getting this reaction,” she said, as Samuel moved to join them, looking equally as intrigued.

Cassidy reached to grab her identical copy and pass it up to Miranda as Caroline got up from the table and ran out of the dining room. Miranda could hear her clambering up the stairs in the direction of the living room, and no doubt the Home Theater system.

“What is this?” she said as she looked what looked to be a bootlegged copy. “Harry Potter?” Miranda said. “You already own all of th…”

The words died on her lips as she read the title. She wasn’t ever likely to forget the exact order in which the books fell given that girls had been obsessed with them since they were first introduced to them. It was one of the only things that hadn’t waned as they moved into their teenage years. It helped that Emma Watson was going to be the new face of Burberry this year, which only solidified the franchises relevance amongst its maturing fans.

As the ‘For Preview Purposes Only’ sticker on the front stared out at her, Miranda knew _exactly_ who was responsible.

_Andrea._

“Was there a card?” Miranda said, her voice coming out shaky.

“Miranda, are you okay? You look a little pale,” Samuel said, pulling out a chair and forcing her into it.

“Nothing. Just that,” Cassidy paused. “And a book,” she said quietly.

There was only one person who would bother to buy the girls books aside from Miranda. _God damn that girl._ It felt like a freight train had slammed into her chest. She had not been expecting this today.

“I think it might be from An—“

“Yes, yes, Cassidy,” Miranda said sharply, but she was too late. Samuel was staring at her.

“Hey baby, do you think you can me and your Mom a minute?” Samuel said, as Cassidy nodded at her father and went after Caroline.

“Talk,” Samuel said.

“There’s nothing to ta—“

“Cut the crap Miranda, I didn’t come down in the last shower,” he said.

“ _What?_ ” she said, staring at him suddenly, puzzled.

“God, Australian colleague,” he said by way of explanation, waving her off. “I mean I wasn’t born yesterday. Something is going on, and if the girls are aware then you’ve obviously been taking pains to keep me out of the loop because they haven’t said a word about this mystery gift giver.”

“They haven’t said a word because it’s none of your damn business,” Miranda said, not liking the accusation in his tone.

“If it involves the girls then it is my goddamn business. Who is it?” he demanded.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Miranda said, getting to her feet.

Samuel growled. “Miranda, sit down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own damn house!” she barked.

“All right, all right,” Samuel said, taking a step back. “Let’s dial this down a notch. I’m sorry.”

Miranda took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe he still managed to get under her skin, even after all these years. “No, I apologize.”

“Look, I just want to know that you and the girls are okay. Whoever this guy is, he looks like he’s done a right number on you.”

Miranda snorted. “If only.”

“Who is it?” Samuel asked.

“You won’t like it,” Miranda said.

“Try me,” he pressed.

“Fine. It _was_ Andrea Sachs,” Miranda said, sinking back into her seat.

“That name means nothing to me, Miranda,” Samuel said. “Although I see that little predilection never quite wore off,” his finished with a smirk.

Miranda glared at him.

“Sorry, sorry. But seriously, it’s not throwing up any flags.”

“You probably know her better as _Andy_ ,” she sighed.

“Andy Sachs?” Samuel said, still looking puzzled. She watched him closely as he threw the name around his brain, puzzlement moving quickly to disbelief. “ _Andy!?”_ he said. “Not that leggy brunette girl from what, four years ago? The nice one? God, how old is she? Like, 20?”

Miranda simply nodded, not bothering to correct his timeline or his wildly low estimate.

“Christ,” Samuel said, running his hand through his hair and sinking into the seat next to her.

“Yes, that sums it up quite nicely,” Miranda said.

“How long?” Samuel said. “Is that why Stephen…”

“No, Stephen and I had been drifting apart for some time,” Miranda said. “This is, _was_ very recent. However, it’s no longer an issue.”

Samuel raised his eyebrow. “Have you seen yourself? I’d say it’s an issue. What happened?”

“I put a stop to it, of course,” Miranda said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

Miranda laughed bitterly. “ _Why?_ For exactly the reason you just demonstrated. What do you think would happen if this got out? What would happen to the girls?”

Samuel sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “Although, I did like that one. Always so polite.”

“Yes, well. What’s done is done,” Miranda said matter-of-factly.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Miranda. I mean, she’s certainly younger than I expected, but I’m hardly in any position to judge,” he said wryly. “You know I’d support you no matter what, as long as the girls were happy.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said quietly, turning to look out of the window.

“What time are these kids arriving?” Samuel asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“Around 12:00pm. The caterers should be here shortly,” she said as she watched a plover land on one of her shrubs.

An arm moved around her back and a large hand landed on her shoulder, giving a light squeeze.

“It’ll be all right, old girl,” Samuel said gently.

Miranda had nothing left to say. Although she hoped he was right.


	21. The Return of La Priestly?

**May 2009  
(Months since Paris: 31)**

Andy sat at her desk staring at this morning’s New York Post.

There, smack dab in the middle of page 6 was a picture of Miranda. As always, the editor-in-chief looked stunning. Her signature white mane was perfectly coifed, and she was wearing Valentino again.

It was fitting. The theme for last night’s Met Gala was ‘The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion’, and Miranda had certainly served as Valentino’s muse on a number of occasions. She embodied every dress he had ever created for her.

However, it wasn’t Miranda who was holding Andy’s attention at that moment.

It was the solver fox in black tie standing next to her beneath the charming headline: ‘The Next Mr. Priestly?’

Yes, it was that specifically which made her want to tear the paper to shreds.

Miranda had flown solo at every Gala since her divorce, and Andy couldn’t help but think this was a message intended specially for her.

A shot across the bow following the twins’ birthday presents.

Something to ensure she was aware that she was no longer welcome in the realm.

Andy rolled up the paper in disgust and threw it violently into the bin next to her desk. 

* * *

Nigel raised his eyebrow as he eyed a picture of Miranda and James Mercer in today’s Post.

He had spoken to Miranda briefly last night, but she had been vague and evasive, and obviously busy. He had seen James lingering in the background, talking with Marc Jacobs, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Although apparently the press _had._

“Lana,” Nigel called out.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get Andy Sachs on the phone for me,” he said.

“Yeah just give me a minute and I’ll track her down.”

“Thank you,” he said as he sat back in his chair.

He took off his glasses and plucked a handkerchief out of his breast pocket.

He had been so busy he hadn’t really given Miranda and Six a passing thought. Everything had seemed fine just over two weeks ago. Come to think of it, the rumour mill filtering in from Runway suggested that Miranda had been an absolute hell beast recently. He had just assumed it was because of the Gala. But perhaps there was something else going on.

“She said she’s busy and she’ll call you later,” Lana said.

“Call her back and tell her I need just five minutes. Now preferably,” Nigel said.

Nigel waiting until he heard Lana speaking before she transferred a call through to his extension.

“Six,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry to disturb you at work.”

“What do you want, Nigel?” Andy sighed.

Nigel wasn’t a fan on the tone reaching his ears. Something was _definitely_ going on.

“I want to know what on Earth Miranda was doing with James-bloody-Mercer at the Met? I mean if she was going to choose a beard, she could have at least chosen someone _interesting._ The guy is as straight as they come.”

“Perhaps she wanted someone who wouldn’t attract the attention of the press,” Andy replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, she didn’t do a very good job,” Nigel said.

“No, she didn’t,” Andy confirmed.

“Six, what’s going on? I mean, going solo would have been more subtle. La Priestly has just gone and attracted a whole lot of attention to her love life.”

“Perhaps that was what she wanted,” Andy said curtly.

“Six?”

“Look, what she does is no longer any of my concern Nigel,” Andy sighed tiredly. “Now, I really do need to get back to work. I’ll call you soon,” Andy said before ending the call.

“Lana,” Nigel called. “Get me on Miranda’s books, _today_ if you can.” 

* * *

Jane came sprinting down the hall, a tray of coffee in her hand and bags dangling from every available appendage.

“I just saw the town car. She’s on her broom,” the second assistant cried as she bolted past their desks and into Miranda’s office.

Amy picked up her phone and called up to the Art Department calmly.

“She’s on her way,” she warned Emily before ending the call and dialling Kristen as well.

When she was finished, Amy took a deep breath and cracked her neck, before hiding her copy of the Post in her desk. Miranda was _not_ going to be happy.

Actually, if she was honest, there was very little that made Miranda happy recently.

Amy wasn’t sure how many more weeks of this she could handle. It wasn’t that the work was any harder, it was just Miranda. It was like the woman had ceased to be a person. Her sense of humour had vanished, she delivered orders like royal edicts, and any small sense of warmth she once had in her tone was long gone.

Amy never thought there was anything particularly warm, or fuzzy about her boss. She was damn terrifying, to be honest. However, Amy was quickly realizing that the woman she had worked for, for the past two years, was a veritable pussy cat in comparison to the one she worked for now. She thought she had seen her fair share of La Priestly mood swings, ridiculous requests and outrageous behaviour but that was _nothing_ in comparison to the walking demon she had been sacrificing life and limb for over the past two and a half weeks.

Amy heard the ominous ding of the elevator and steeled herself.

As Miranda stormed into the office, her coat and bag flew out of her hands, landing unceremoniously on Jane’s desk as the woman in question scuttled out of Miranda’s office, barely avoiding coming to head-to-head with the editor-in-chief.

Amy stood up and silently followed Miranda into her office.

“Good morning,” she said, unsurprised when her polite overture was ignored.

“Call Accessories and tell them I want to see their selections for the August issue in 30 minutes,” Miranda said as she rounded her desk. “Tell Patrick I wanted the proofs yesterday and yet his incompetent staff still can’t seem to manage a simple upload, tell _Amy_ that the jackets she just dropped in my office are completely unacceptable and I expect her back here in an hour with what I requested. Call Cara and tell her I’ll need her to stay until 7:00pm and I’ll need dinner prepared. Find me a restaurant with a chef that actually knows how to cook a steak before lunch, and pull this afternoon’s run-through up to 1:00pm; I’m absolutely sick of waiting for people to pull together something that resembles a summer collection,” she paused for a moment. “In response to your email, tell Nigel I can give him 5 minutes at 10:00am. Not six, not seven, _five_. That’s all,” she finished curtly before waving her hands in dismissal.

Amy simply nodded and could have sworn she saw the lights dim in the office as the she-devil sat down.

* * *

Miranda nodded in approval at Kristen as she took in the recommendations for the upcoming issue.

“Go and speak with the design department and tell them I want these incorporated before they bother showing their faces in my office this afternoon,” Miranda said, before she turned back towards her desk, not bothering with a dismissal. Kristen was smart enough to drag her colleague out without having to be told.

She sat back down at her desk and pulled up her schedule. Nigel was due in her office at any minute, and she had her suspicions as to why.

The Post had been conspicuously absent from the Runway offices this morning. Although none of her employees would dare to mention it, she had little doubt that the editor-in-chief of L'Homme would bring it to her immediate attention.

As she watched her former Creative Director make his way towards her office, she sat up in her chair and steeled her face.

As Nigel entered her office and flicked the door closed, she bristled. “How presumptuous,” Miranda said, her tone flinty.

Nigel ignored her. “James Mercer?” Nigel said.

“What of it?” she said.

“Oh, nothing,” Nigel said. “Other than the fact he’s a complete and utter bore.”

“You have 3 minutes. I am going to live in hope that the remainder of this conversation will be business related, because I can assure you we will be discussing nothing else,” Miranda snapped.

“I thought the girls’ liked Six? I thought—no, hell I _know_ you sure as hell do.”

Miranda clenched her jaw. “If that’s everything Nigel, I believe your five minutes are _up_ ,” she said, the dismissal clear in her voice.

“What the hell did you do _?”_ Nigel demanded. “You couldn’t stop at pushing her away, you had to go and crush her while you were at it!?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Miranda said in warning.

Nigel scoffed. “You don’t scare me Miranda Priestly. You might have everyone in this office skipping along the edges of the building just waiting to jump, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before you’ll have me standing right along with them.”

Miranda glared at him.

“Who _is_ this person?” Nigel demanded. “I don’t know who this is sitting before me but I can tell you right now, I don’t like her. The only answer I can seem to come up with for this is that you’ve decided to tuck your tail between your legs and hightail it away from a situation that _might_ damage your reputation. Honestly, you’re Miranda _Priestly_. The Dragon Lady, the Snow Queen, the Devil in Prada. Never have I seen you cowering in a corner, allowing others to dictate your life for you. _Especially_ not the press,” he finished.

“Get. _Out_.”

Nigel shook his head in apparent disgust, and turned to walk back towards the door. When he reached the entrance he paused with his hand on the handle and turned back.

“For what it’s worth, Jimmy _Mercer_ is the mistake you’re making Miranda, not Andy. La Priestly isn’t fooling anyone. You couldn’t look more miserable and lonely if you tried,” he finished curtly before exiting the room.

Miranda clenched her fist in her lap.

* * *

The twins’ eyed each other across the dinner table.

It was after 9:00pm and dinner had been delayed again. They had both decided to wait for their Mother to come home this evening rather than eat without her, _again._ Caroline had been adamant that they needed to discuss the pictures from the post this morning, given that everyone at school had decided to ask them about their new stepfather.

Yes, ‘Rebound Suit’—as Caroline had taken to calling James Mercer—was the topic of conversation this evening.

Although she had originally been apathetic about the whole Andy saga, the threat of another father figure had her suddenly very concerned. She didn’t want another Dad. She didn’t _need_ another cardboard cut-out New York business douche.

It had now become apparent that the chipper, soccer playing brunette who was obviously best friends with J.K. Rowling was absolutely essential in preventing the arrival of yet another Mr. Priestly.

Not only that, it had turned out she had been wrong. Mom wasn’t _fine_. It had been over two weeks and she didn’t seem to getting any closer to _fine_ either.

“So, when do we get to meet him?” Caroline asked.

“Whom?” Miranda asked, turning to face her.

“The next _Mr. Priestly_ ,” Caroline said with a sneer, quoting page six.

“I thought I told you not to pay attention to the tabloids,” Miranda said sternly.

“It’s a bit hard to avoid when everyone is quoting it in your face,” Caroline spat.

Miranda sighed. “There is no ‘next Mr. Priestly’. James is an old friend.”

“And you just decided to take him to the Gala and parade him around like your _boyfriend_?” Caroline pressed.

“I did nothing of the sort. I simply required a plus one to run interference and give me some breathing room.” Miranda said.

“Why didn’t you take Amy, or Jane? Actually, why didn’t you just take Andy? I _liked_ Andy.”

Cassidy scoffed across the table and she glared at her sister.

“That’s enough Caroline, I thought we’d been over this,” Miranda said, sternly.

“You liked Andy, too,” Cassidy said suddenly, quietly interjecting.

“Cassidy?” Miranda said, and Caroline stared wide-eyed at her sister. It wasn’t like her to push the issue.

“I said you liked Andy too. You shouldn’t have broken up with her. I think you made a mistake,” Cassidy finished matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” Miranda said, staring at Cassidy with incredulity.

“I said, you made a mistake, Mom.”

Caroline’s eyes bugged out of her head.

“Are you quite done?” Miranda said then, her tone cool.

“No,” the youngest of the twins replied honestly.

“Well then, by all means,” Miranda said then, waving for her to continue.

Cassidy placed her knife and fork down gently and turned calmly towards her mother. “I liked you more when you were dating Andy. You were funny. Now you’re awful. You don’t smile anymore, you snap at everyone, and you’ve started working all the time again. I don’t want to live with La Priestly,” Cassidy said as she got to her feet. “In fact, I’m done,” she finished as she walked away from the table, leaving her still half-full plate behind.

Caroline looked at her mother. Miranda looked like she’d been slapped, and the elder of the twins’ couldn’t hide her shock at what her sister had done.

Miranda looked at her. “Anything to add?” she asked, the hurt in her tone evident.

Caroline shook her head before turning her attention back to her dinner.

She heard her Mother get up from the table and disappear out the back door into the yard, the door closing firmly behind her.

* * *

Miranda sat down on the step and reached behind one of the pot plants to pull out a pack of Marlboro Gold’s.

She tore a cigarette out of the pack, tapped the end habitually on the back of her hand before clasping it between her teeth and lighting it.

She took a deep drag and stared at the packet.

It was almost empty.

She had quit smoking in the early 90s, but particularly stressful times seemed to bring out the urge. Funerals seemed to be one trigger, divorces another and now, apparently, Andrea.

Usually it was just one, two at the most. But lately? Well, she seemed to have lost count. Funerals and divorces had something of a definitive ending. What she had done with Andrea had felt very far from definitive.

The door opened behind her and she didn’t even bother to try and hide the cigarette in her hand. Everything was falling apart at the seams. Or perhaps it was just her.

“Whatever it is you have to say, I don’t want to hear it, Caroline,” she said tiredly.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” her daughter replied.

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

The eldest of the twins sat down on her left and Miranda stubbed the cigarette out, waving her hand in front of her face to keep the smoke away from her daughter.

“If it’s good enough for you, then it’s good enough for me,” Caroline sassed.

“Is that what they’re teaching in Health class this year? How to guilt one’s parents?” Miranda said.

Caroline looked down at her toes. “I’m sorry about what Cass and I did,” she said quietly.

“Yes, well, it’s done now,” Miranda sighed.

Caroline looked up at her, her face serious. “Why _did_ you break up with Andy? I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I thought you liked her? At least you looked like you did.”

Miranda looked down at her daughter who suddenly seemed so much older than her 14-years. Behind all the sass, Caroline was actually quite perceptive. She supposed it was only fair she gave her an honest answer. Shutting the girls out had done very little to help the situation. She hadn’t handled any of this very well.

“I did _like_ Andrea,” Miranda admitted. “However, Andrea is also 27 years younger than me, Caroline. She has her entire life ahead of her. What will happen in 10, or 20 years’ time?” she asked her daughter honestly.

“You’ll look like Joan Rivers?” Caroline replied with a shrug.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “I was hoping for Sophia Loren.”

“Who’s that?” Caroline asked.

“Remind me to cut back your MTV hours,” Miranda said, shaking her head.

Caroline screwed up her nose before leaning into Miranda’s side. “I don’t think Andy would have minded, you know, Joan _or_ Sophie,” she said.

Miranda’s arm shot out and she pulled her daughter close into her side. She suddenly realised she hadn’t spent a single moment of quality time with her daughters since their birthday. I mean, that’s what all this had been about, hadn’t it? Protecting her daughters? It certainly hadn’t been done with the aim of punishing them.

If she was honest, she could barely remember her justification for what she had done that night anymore. It was ugly, and she knew it. The worst part about it was that it still hadn’t been enough to push the girl away. Still Andrea had come back for more, and like the bitch they had all proclaimed her to be, she had proceeded to crush the other woman’s hope into smithereens.

For the first time in a very long time, Miranda truly loathed who she was. She had made absolutely everyone miserable, including herself.

Well, she may not have a solution for her and Andrea, but she could certainly end the anguish she was inflicting on her daughters.

Miranda gripped Caroline’s shoulder tighter. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home lately,” she said.

Caroline put her arms around her mother. “It’s okay,” she said. “But, you’re not going to marry the ‘Rebound Suit’ are you?”

“No Caroline, I’m not going to marry _James_ ,” she replied.

“Good,” she said. “Does Andy know that? Because she probably saw that picture too, you know.”

“That will do, Caroline.”

“All right, all right. I was just saying. But, you know, none of your marriages have lasted ten years so even if you did marry Andy you’ll only be in your 60s when you get divorced,” Caroline sassed and Miranda couldn’t help the laugh that suddenly escaped her lips.

Her eldest grinned up at her and Miranda shook her head. “What are we going to do with you, hmm?” she said, as some of the tension from the past two and half weeks began to lessen its grip.

Caroline shrugged in response, giving her another squeeze.

“Thank you, Bobbsey,” Miranda said gently, stroking her daughters’ hair as she stared out into the back garden.

* * *

There was firm knock at her door, and Andy sighed. There was a very short list of people who it could possibly be, and after today, she had her suspicions.

As she peered through the peephole, her suspicions were confirmed.

Andy pulled open the door and raised her brow. “Yes, Emily?”

“Nigel sent me in his stead, he couldn’t get away,” Emily said, raising a bottle of vodka. “I hope you at least have ice,” she finished as she pushed her way through into the apartment.

“By all means,” Andy said as she closed the door, and watched Emily move swiftly into the kitchen in search of glasses.

“Honestly, Andrea,” she snapped as she popped back up from apparently crouching. “A little help, if you please?”

Andy shook her head and moved into the kitchen.

“I’m here to drink. Not to talk,” Emily said as Andy reached above the red-heads head and pulled down two rocks glasses.

“Good, because I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s settled then,” Emily nodded, before reaching out giving Andy a quick side-hug. “Right—well—now that’s over with, what do you say to embracing alcoholism?”

Andy let out the first chuckle she had managed all week. “You know what Em, I think there might be a future in that,” she said as she pulled an ice tray out of the freezer and dropped two cubes into each glass.

Emily whipped the cap off the vodka and poured them each a healthy measure before raising the glass in salute. “To no memory,” she said.

“To no memory,” Andy echoed, clinking their glasses together.


	22. Next Steps

**August 2009  
(Months since Paris: 34)**

“You must, Andy,” Serena said, imploringly.

“I happen to agree with her for once,” Emily said, taking a sip of her vodka, soda and lime.

Andy rolled her eyes. “I’m really not feeling it,” she said.

“What’s not to feel?” Emily said, scoffing. “She’s intelligent, attractive and she has our stamp of approval.”

“She’s a _lawyer_ ,” Andy said.

“You’re just nit-picking now. You need to get back on the horse. It’s been over three months, Andrea.”

“Three?” Serena said then, puzzled. “I thought you and Starbucks broke up in November?”

“There was a little rebound period,” Emily covered quickly.

Serena had been on a six month secondment to the Milan office since January, and Andy was pleasantly surprised to find out that Emily had managed to keep her mouth shut in regards to what had occurred with Miranda over the entire period. In fact, it appeared that aside from Nigel, and apparently Kristen; Amy and Emily had kept everything locked down at Runway on her and Miranda’s behalf, all the way from the Christmas debacle and even questions that arose from their interaction at the L'Homme launch.

Andy hadn’t realised just how much could be construed from such simple actions, but it appeared she was well looked after from within the halls of Runway. Whether it was on account of Miranda, or genuine friendship between her and the red-head she would never know, but she appreciated Emily more than she ever had before.

By the time Serena had arrived back in early July after a short stint with the family in S _ã_ o Paulo, Andy’s time with Miranda had become nothing but an undiscussed sidebar of the first quarter of 2015.

A glaring, painful sidebar.

The only good thing to come of the disastrous events of April and May was that her friendship with Emily had organically grown into something that was beyond just Friday night cocktails, and in the midst of all this, she had finally realized that she really did need friends. Real friends. Friends that didn’t punish her for her work. Friends who understood her ambition and didn’t see fit to punish her for it. Friends who didn’t judge her too harshly for falling for the Devil herself.

Although right now, she could probably do without said friends.

“There’s nothing wrong with a rebound period,” Serena said with a chuckle. “I always find that a little _fazendo amor_ is good to heal the heart.”

“Or drag you right back to where you started,” Emily scoffed.

“Ah, _è vero Emilia_ ,” Serena replied.

“Is she speaking Italian again?” Andy asked.

“Naturally,” Emily said, rolling her eyes.

“Uncultured Americans,” Serena replied.

“Excuse me!?” Emily said indignantly.

“The English, always so sensitive,” Serena responded with a smirk and Andy chuckled.

“I think we need more to drink,” Andy said, standing up. “Same again?”

“Yes,” Emily replied. “But don’t think this conversation is over, Andrea.”

Andy rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse, making her way to the bar.

Yes, some good things had come of her heartbreak. Andy only wished those things were capable of scraping away the final remnants of Miranda Priestly which refused to leave her in peace.

* * *

As Emily and Serena got into a taxi, Serena turned to face Emily, placing her hand lightly on the red-heads arm.

“What are you not telling me?” Serena asked gently, a hint of hurt in her tone.

“Something that is none of my business to tell, Serena,” Emily said. “Just know that there is a reason I told you to stay away from her this time, you’ll only get your heart broken my friend and I love you too much for that. So please, don’t.”

“I don’t think it’s my heart you should worry about so much,” Serena said, her eyes glancing back in the direction Andy had just walked. “Someone has taken something away from her.”

“She’ll be okay,” Emily said. “One way or another,” she finished quietly.

Serena gripped Emily’s arm and leant into her, leaning her head on her shoulder. “I missed you, Emilia,” she said.

“I missed you too, you bloody idiot,” Emily said.

“You’ve taken good care of her,” Serena said. “I knew you liked her,” she chuckled.

“Oh hush you.”

* * *

Miranda stared absentmindedly out the window at the Friday night revellers of New York. Women in dresses that were too short, and heels that were too high for the level of alcohol consumption being undertaken. She sighed and looked away. She was aware that she had to move with the times, but sometimes she truly wondered where the class of the City had drifted away to.

“Are the girls going to be back for the big day?” Roy said, distracting her from her melancholic musings.

“Yes, Samuel assured me they’ll be back on Sunday evening,” Miranda replied. “A quiet dinner on Monday night is more than sufficient. If I had my way I would nothing at all, but Caroline won’t have any of it as per usual.”

 _Fifty four_ , she thought. It was about as insignificant at 53 and every other birthday since she crossed over to the other side of 50. She had momentarily entertained the idea this year might be different, however that was all well and truly done with now.

“You should be thankful Miranda, I’m lucky if mine even remember,” Roy replied.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said.

Since the fallout from the Met Gala, things had settled down considerably in her life. The tabloids had stopped speculating about her and James, and things with the girls were much as they were before.

Everything was as it was supposed to be.

This past month had been difficult however. Given that she was busy with work, Samuel had decided to take some leave and had swept the girls away on holiday to the South of France for part of their summer. It was one of the properties he had secured in the divorce simply to rile her, given that it was one of her favourite vacation spots.

However, the days of frivolity and international property were waning, and he had spoken to her about the possibility of having to sell. It saddened her. Regardless of the fact she hadn’t stepped foot in the house since the girls were born, they had spent quite some time there before things had gone south. She had many good memories of that house.

Miranda shook her head. This melancholic outlook had been becoming more and more pronounced in the last week. As her birthday approached, the girls’ prolonged absence had seen a loneliness settle into her bones that not even work had been able to numb completely.

She had confided in no one, as she was hardly in a position to complain about a situation that had been of her own making. The only person who seemed to be truly aware of her feelings was Roy, and he had taken it upon himself to natter away cheerfully with more frequency on their daily commute, pretending nothing was amiss.

Nietzsche said that ‘no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself’. That loneliness was a necessity to prevent being overwhelmed by the tribe. Miranda had based her entire life’s work on that principle. Yet with her 54th birthday only two days away, she was beginning to wonder if she had put too much stock in that principle. She was beginning to wonder if it was all going to be worth it in the end.

As they pulled up to the house, she stared up at the dark silhouette of everything her career and reputation had bought her. A shiver crept down her spine.

The door opened, interrupting her thoughts.

As she stepped out, Roy walked her up to the door and waited until she had flicked the lights on and was securely inside. “If you change your mind about the weekend, just let me know,” he said. “Mrs is off with her sister and I tend to get a bit stir crazy around the house,” Roy said with a wry smirk.

“The on call driver can handle it,” Miranda said. “Go and enjoy your weekend Roy. But, thank you,” she finished gently.

“Anytime, Miranda, you know that,” he said before excusing himself and walking back to the car.

As she closed the door, Patricia came trotting into the foyer to greet her, tail wagging.

“Just the two of us again, old girl,” Miranda said gently as she dropped her bags and crouched down to greet the big dog.

Patricia nudged her wet nose against her cheek, and Miranda gave the dog a good scratch before pushing herself back up to standing.

As her hands moved to press on her thighs to assist, she made a mental note to call her personal trainer. She may be turning 54 on Monday but that was absolutely no excuse to be struggling like an 80-year-old. She had been letting things slide. It wasn’t a surprise she was feeling so miserable.

As she walked through towards the kitchen, Patricia trailed after her, the click of her nails against the hardwood comforting. Miranda pulled a bottle of perfectly chilled Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge. Karen Walker had been kind enough to send her two crates of selections from her favourite New Zealand vineyards for her birthday, knowing her affinity. The wry New Zealander had added a cheeky ‘Sorry I couldn’t be there with 24 candles you young thing’. She had always appreciated the woman’s humour. However tonight she particularly appreciated her gift. She reached for a glass and poured herself a healthy measure, humming in satisfaction as she took her first sip. She had to remember to call her and thank her, and congratulate her on her inspired eyewear line for summer. Kristen had been pushed the Annie Hall inspired offerings, and Miranda had to admit she had agreed with her ex-assistant, featuring them heavily in the June issue.

Patricia nudged her leg, and she rolled her eyes. “All right, all right,” Miranda said as she moved to get the dog her second dinner. “The vet is going to tell me off again,” she said to the dog as she set the bowl down. “That’s an extra hour around the park tomorrow, I hope you realize,” she admonished as she watched Patricia stuff her face into the bowl.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re happy. When you’re quite finished you’re welcome to join me upstairs,” Miranda said as she plucked up the bottle and climbed the stairs towards the living room.

As she made herself comfortable on the girls’ favourite couch, she picked up the remote and flicked through the hundreds of channels. As usual there was absolutely nothing on. MTV was covered in those garish idiots, the Kardashians again and she shuddered. Eventually she landed on something that looked like a period drama, and when she spotted Colin Firth she sighed. _Of course._

As Patricia lumbered into the room and leapt up onto the couch, she couldn’t bring herself to protest as the dog rested her chin on her thigh and looked up at her. “Oh, all right then. But only tonight. I don’t expect you to start making a habit of it,” she admonished gently as she reached to scratch the dog behind the ears. “How do you feel about Austen?” she said.

Patricia simply stared at her and blinked.

“God help me, Austen it is,” she sighed as she settled herself against the arm of the sofa.

Her life was never going to be a romance novel, so she might as well enjoy it.

* * *

“Andy?” a voice called out as she strolled back towards the subway. It was Saturday morning and a beautiful day. She had ducked into the office to pick up some research, but was seriously reconsidering her decision to work today, the slight pang of a hangover still lingering and the sunshine calling.

Andy whipped around. “Kelly?” she said.

“Hey, long time no see,” the pixie haired brunette said. “That looks a little heavy, you need a hand?”

Andy waved her off. “No it’s fine, I was just on my way home. You heading to work?”

“Nah, just catching up with a couple of the guys when they knock off the morning shift. I’m not working there anymore.”

Andy readjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder, and curiosity getting the better of her. “Where are you now?”

“Back at school. I wanted to call you and let you know, but, you know…” she said with a shrug.

Andy couldn’t stop the broad smile that broke out over her face. “Really? That’s great news Kel, I’m happy for you.”

The other woman blushed slightly and scratched the back of her head, an embarrassed smile breaking out on her face. “Thanks,” she said. “Do you want to go grab a coffee? It’s Dave and Petra, they’d love to see you.”

Andy hesitated.

“Hey, you know what, forget I—“

“You know what, I’d like that,” Andy said before Kelly could finish her sentence. “I want to hear about what you’ve been doing.”

The brunette smiled broadly. “Great, well we’re just going to meet them and then we’ll head somewhere a little less corporate,” she said. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Andy chuckled.

“All right, well, shall we?” Kelly said, holding out her arm chivalrously.

Andy chuckled, “Get moving,” she sassed as Kelly bowed in mock apology before leading the way.

* * *

Miranda strolled peacefully through Central Park, enjoying the sunshine from beneath a layer of sunscreen and a very large hat. Her nose was always the first to get burnt in this weather, and she refused to look like Rudolph for the better part of a week.

Patricia was rumbling along at a stately pace, and Miranda had noticed the old girl was getting slower. _Both of them_ , she thought wryly.

It was good to be outside, and she had to admit. The weather was helping to improve her mood. The girls would be back tomorrow night, there were no impending disasters at the magazine, and she had managed a decent night’s sleep last night which was drastically overdue. The empty bottle of wine she picked up from next to the couch this morning probably had something to do with it. Not to mention the large, fluffy bed warmer she had allowed. Alcohol had made her weak, and Patricia had taken full advantage of her state.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she sighed. She should know better than to speak too soon. “Yes?” she said curtly as she picked up the call.

“Miranda? It’s Ellie. Ellie Evans,” the voice said down the line, and Miranda stopped abruptly.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” she said immediately, recognizing her driver’s wife’s name.

“It’s Roy,” the woman paused, taking a deep breath. “He’s had a heart attack.”

“What hospital?” Miranda demanded, tugging Patricia towards the nearest exit.

“New York Presbyterian,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry disturb you, I just thought you should know he won’t be available on Monday. He’d kill me if I didn’t let you know,” the woman said, drawing a shaky breath.

“Are you all right, Ellie?” Miranda said.

“No, not particularly, no. I—I’m up state with my sister. I’m getting there as fast as I can I just—” the woman said.

“I’ll be there shortly,” Miranda said, cutting her off.

“Miranda, you don’t have to do that,” Ellie said.

“Nonsense,” Miranda replied sternly. “Where are your daughters?”

“One’s at UCLA and the other is at Northwestern. They’re both trying to get flights as soon as possible.”

“Leave that with me. How far away are you?”

“Still a couple of hours,” Ellie said shakily.

“I’ll see you when you arrive,” Miranda said hanging up, before calling her car service.

“I need a pick up at Central Park West. Now,” she demanded.

“Which exit?” the driver asked.

“I don’t know, about 30 minutes’ walk from my house. Work it out,” she snapped before ending the call as her and Patricia exited on to the street.

She dialled out again, and was relieved when Jane picked up her phone. “Jane, I’m aware it’s a Saturday but I need you to track down Lucy and Nicole Evans, UCLA and Northwestern. They need to be at New York Presbyterian now, don’t spare any expense,” she said, waiting for her assistant to confirm before hanging up.

The driver took another 20 minutes to track them down, and by the time he arrived she was furious. She ignored the apologies, bundling Patricia into the car and climbing in after her.

“Just _go,_ ” she said firmly.

When they pulled up to the hospital, Miranda didn’t bother waiting for the driver to open the door. “Patricia, stay,” she ordered, as the dog moved to follow. She grabbed her keys and threw them at the driver, “Take her home, give her some water and then leave her inside, she’ll be fine. I expect you to be close for the remainder of the day. That’s all,” she said before storming into the hospital.

She was struck with the overwhelming smell of disinfectant as she entered, and scanned the area for the reception desk. She had spent enough time in the hospital’s private wing over the years, but she hadn’t been on this side since Cassidy was taken to the emergency room five years ago.

When she spotted a number of harassed looking women behind a desk, she bee-lined straight for it.

“Roy Evans,” she said to the receptionist, immediately.

“And you are?” the woman drawled.

“Her,” Miranda said, pointing to a picture of herself and Michael Bloomberg on the wall at the opening of the refurbished paediatrics wing. It was five years old but it was unmistakeably her.

The woman’s eyes widened as she picked up the phone immediately. “My apologies Ms. Priestly,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Miranda looked down at herself and supposed she could hardly blame the woman. She was considerably dressed down in comparison to her picture.

Miranda tapped her foot her foot impatiently as the woman argued with someone down the line. When she eventually finished the call, Miranda noted the premature lines on her brow from constant frowning. It wasn’t a job she would volunteer for, of that she was certain.

“He’s on the Cardiac ward, 9th floor, room 932. They’re expecting you,” the woman said.

“Thank you,” Miranda nodded, before she swept swiftly in the direction of the elevators, bundling in with another 20 people or so, and taking a deep breath.

It was a long standing myth that Miranda refused to ride in elevators with people because they were employees, and one she had happily perpetrated. The reality was that she was in fact quite claustrophobic, and found that being stuck in a small metal box was more manageable if she wasn’t forced to share the limited air with multiple other people. Her phobia had lessened slightly over the years, but she still couldn’t say she had a definite handle on it.

Miranda clenched her fists tightly as the elevator stopped at every-single-floor on the way to the 9th, and by the time she reached her destination she was surprised there was blood dripping onto the floor on account of her nails. In hindsight, she probably should have taken the stairs.

As she approached cardiac reception, there was already a representative from the hospital waiting. “Herbert never misses a thing, does he?” Miranda said as the physician approached her. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with dark hair and a West Asian complexion.

“No, he doesn’t,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Dr Leila Malhotra.”

“Miranda Priestly,” she responded.

“Of that I’m well aware, if you’ll follow me I’ll take you to Mr Evans’ room,” the physician said as she took off at a rapid trot.

“Is he all right?” Miranda asked, moving quickly to keep up. “His wife is quite concerned.”

“I called his wife about 15 minutes ago, he’s regained consciousness and is quite comfortable at this stage,” Dr Malhotra said as they rounded the corner and came to a halt outside a room. “See for yourself,” she said as opened the door.

As Miranda entered, she was faced with a man she didn’t recognize without his hat. Roy Evans was sitting up, looking a little pale, oxygen prongs under his nose and few IV drips, but otherwise all right.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dr Malhotra said. “If you need anything, just ask one of the nurses to come and find me,” she said before excusing herself and closing the door.

“Miranda, what are you doing here?” Roy said, looking extremely uncomfortable.

Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re all right,” she said.

“I’m fine,” Roy said. “Who called you?” he said, bristling.

“Your wife,” Miranda said.

“For Christ’s sake,” he swore. “You can go Miranda, as you can see, I’m fine. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“Not particularly,” Miranda said, pulling up a seat. “I think I’ll wait until your wife arrives. I can’t have the press accusing me of abandoning my employees during a medical crisis,” she said with a smirk.

“I’m going to kill her,” he said.

“I think she might kill you first. Honestly Roy, how many times did I warn you about those high sodium snacks you’re so fond of?”

He glared at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Yes, quite,” she said. “Although I’m must admit, you may have taken a few years off _my_ life,” she said, a little more seriously. “What happened?”

Roy’s face softened. “Cardiac infarction apparently. I woke up with a pain in my arm. I didn’t really think much of it until I felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest. It’s a lot less dramatic than you’d expect.”

“So it would appear. You look remarkably healthy for a man I was convinced was on his death bed an hour ago.”

“Well, the hospital supplies some remarkable drugs, I must say,” he said.

“You’re pupils look like you’ve been out at a rave,” Miranda noted wryly.

“Well, I guess I have permission to speak freely then?” he said.

“Certainly not,” Miranda said.

“Blame the drugs,” Roy said, ignoring her. “Pick up the phone and call her. You’re fucking miserable Miranda Priestly.”

“Oh dear, you’re going to regret that one when you get back to work,” Miranda said.

“You’re not firing me?” Roy said, suddenly changing tact.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “For the heart attack? No. For that comment? Well, that’s currently under advisement,” Miranda said.

“I meant it Miranda, I’ve been worried about you,” Roy said.

“Although I appreciate your concern Roy, it’s not only myself that I have to take into consideration. I need to do whats in the best interests of the girls,” Miranda said, moving to pull a seat across to the bed and take a seat.

“The girls seemed fine to me,” Roy said.

“My, my, we are presumptuous today, aren’t we?”

“Says the woman who is _not_ a relative, currently sitting in my hospital room,” Roy bit back.

“Well someone had to make sure you didn’t kick the bucket before your wife had the honours of doing the deed herself,” Miranda sassed, and Roy burst out laughing.

“You actually seem a little livelier today,” Roy admitted.

“Yes, well, I’m sure the adrenaline your little stunt set off will wear down eventually.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Roy said. “Ellie shouldn’t have called you until she had more information.”

“Nonsense, I’m glad she did,” Miranda said. “Despite what they all say, I’m not completely heartless.”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ that, Miranda.”

“No,” Miranda replied. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

That sat silently for a moment before Roy spoke again. “I stand by what I said. I honestly think you’re making a mistake. Andy was good for you.”

“That she was,” Miranda admitted solemnly. “However, who’s to say I was good for her, hmm?”

“Is that what this has all been about?” Roy asked then.

“It was about many things,” Miranda sighed. “But in the end, I will still be 27 years older than her, and our relationship will still become a circus for Rupert Murdoch to make millions with. Those are two facts that are simply impossible to avoid, Roy. You know that as well as I do.”

“Can I give you one passing cliché before I let it drop?” Roy asked.

“If you must,” Miranda sighed.

“Life is too goddamn short,” he said, waving his hands at the IV lines and the steadily beeping monitor to her left. “That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“You have been heard, and your opinion had been noted. Now, can we discuss something else?” Miranda said.

“Yes, actually speaking of girls, has someone called my daughters? I don’t want them to panic unnecessarily if Ellie’s been on to them too.”

Miranda winced suddenly, reaching for her phone.

“What did you do, Miranda Priestly?” Roy growled.

* * *

Andy waved farewell to Petra and Dave as they left, before she turned her attention back to Kelly. The coffee had turned to wine some time ago, and they were sitting in a beer garden catching the last of the sun. It had been a good afternoon, and Andy had to admit it was nice to see everyone again.

“I don’t mean this to sound condescending in anyway, but I’m really proud of you,” Andy said, topping up Kelly’s glass, before dumping the remainder of the bottle into her own.

Kelly smiled. “Well, to be honest, I have you to thank, Sachs.”

“You have no one to thank but yourself,” Andy said.

“Yeah, but you certainly gave me a push I needed. You loved what you did so much, well, you still do. I don’t know—it—well, it gave me the motivation to find a way to make it work,” Kelly shrugged.

“Well, I’m glad something good came out of it all,” Andy said, shrugging her shoulders apologetically.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, we just weren’t in the same place. It happens,” Kelly said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders as she lifted her glass and took a sip. “However, I would like to buy you dinner at some point, if you’re up for it?”

Andy looked at Kelly, the determined, passionate woman before her was a far cry from the directionless barista she had been dating almost a year ago. Perhaps Emily and Serena had been right. It had been over three months. Miranda had made her decision, and nothing come hell or high water was going to change her mind. She had to move forward.

Today had been good. There was no drama, and no sneaking around. There was no schedule to work around, no kids to worry about. It was easy. It was nice. Not to mention she hadn’t felt like someone had taken to her chest with a pocket knife at the end of it.

“You know what?” Andy said, “I think I would like that.”

Kelly smiled and reached her hand across the table to rest on top of her own.

For the first time in over three months, Andy felt like the one she returned might just be genuine.

* * *

Miranda exited the room and left Roy and his wife alone. Ellie had thanked her profusely for being there, and had then followed it up with an apology for being ‘an hysterical mess’.

Miranda felt it was probably a good time to exit before the woman found out she had flown both of her daughters back to New York. She would leave that one with Roy to deal with.

As she glanced back through the glass panel in the door, she could see the overwhelming relief of Ellie’s face and watched as Roy pulled his wife into an embrace. It was an intimate moment, and she forced herself to turn away. The additional reminder of her current situation was a little too much to bear in that moment. The events of the afternoon had left her feeling raw, and tired. She needed to go home.

Miranda grabbed her phone and called her driver, telling him to meet her out front. As she walked out past the reception desk and towards the stairs she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen in the event she had an accident, or a medical emergency. Eventually the girls would be off to college, and Cassidy had already expressed interest in some of the English and Scottish Universities. With one of her girls a day’s travel away, and another God only knows where, who was going to be at her bedside? An assistant? Perhaps Nigel?

As she thought about how concerned Ellie was, she wondered if anyone would even worry about her all that much, aside from her girls.

Roy’s words were still rattling around her head.

_Life is too goddamn short._

She picked up her phone and dialled Cassidy.

“Mom?” the voice said down the line.

“Hi Bobbsey,” Miranda said, surprised to hear a slight tremor in her voice. “I just wanted to call and see how everything was going.”

“Fine, we’re just driving to Biarritz Aéroport to fly to Paris,” Cassidy said, pronouncing the cities in perfectly accented French. “Are you okay? You sound strange.”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

She heard Samuel in the background. “Is that your Mom?”

“Yes,” Cassidy responded.

“Is everything all right?” she heard him say.

“God, it’s just a phone call. You’d think someone had a heart attack or something,” Caroline said, and Miranda balked slightly at her choice of words.

“You’re on speaker,” Cassidy said then.

“I just wanted to wish you all a safe trip, I love you and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Well, except for you Samuel.”

There was a collective chuckle and then a pause. “Miranda, are you sure everything is all right?” Samuel said.

“Yes, everything is fine,” Miranda paused. “Look, I need to go, my car is here,” she finished.

“Okay. Look, I won’t see you in New York as I need to get back to Chicago. I booked a connection,” Samuel said. “But I’ll call you when we land in Paris with the details.”  
  
"Thank you, I'd appreciate that," Miranda said.

“Love you, Mom,” Cassidy and Caroline rang out in chorus.  
  
"Love you too Bobbsey's. Drive safe Sam," she said before ending the call. 

She had the girls, and Samuel would take care of the rest. Everything was fine.

She needed to stop letting this day get to her.

She was _fine._


	23. Happy Birthday To You

“When I said it was time to move on, I didn’t say move bloody backwards!” Emily snapped down the line.

“It’s just dinner Emily, it doesn’t mean anything,” Andy sighed, as she deleted an entire paragraph and made a note to rewrite.

“You’re an idiot, Andrea,” Emily said down the line.

“Do you want to meet for lunch or not?” Andy replied. “I can go anytime from now until 2:00pm today. After that I’m out for the afternoon for interviews.”

“I can’t today,” Emily said, without elaborating.

Andy rolled her eyes. “You can speak about her, I’m not going to melt.”

Emily scoffed a little, before continuing. “How _mature_. Long story short, the new driver set her on the war path this morning. Either that or—”

“Is Roy on holiday?” Andy said then, cutting her off.

“No, shit—I didn’t think. Roy had a heart attack, Andrea. He’s in the hospital. Or was.”

Andy sat up sharply in her chair. “He _what?_ Is he all right? What hospital?”

“You can relax, he’s fine. He’s on orders to take it easy for the next six weeks though. He was at Presbyterian but he might have been discharged already.”

Andy felt herself bristle in anger. She couldn’t believe Miranda. A simple message from Amy would have been it would have taken to let her know.

“Get down off your war horse, Andrea,” Emily scolded. “I can hear you seething from here.”

Andy took a deep breath.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Emily continued. “Either that or another year closer to the coffin has got her panties in a bunch.”

“ _Emily,_ ” Andy said in warning. She was aware it was Miranda’s birthday today, and all it had done was remind her of a night in her apartment and a conversation the following morning. She had been doing perfectly well until she realized the date today, and now it appeared of her good work over the weekend was being underdone one thread at a time. Roy was another thread.

“Oh, so you can hate her, but I can’t?”

“I don’t hate her,” Andy sighed.

“Well, you should. It’d make your life easier. I hate all of my exes and never want to see any of them again. What do you do? You go back and date them for a second time,” Emily said, and Andy could practically see the eye roll. “Anyway,” Emily continued, “I can’t lunch. How about dinner Wednesday? There is a benefit to having Serena stay: she cooks.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” Andy said.

“Right, well I must dash, I’ll get in touch with the details Wednesday. Don’t do anything rash before then.”

“I’ll be sure to take that into careful consideration,” Andy said before Emily ended the call.

She picked up her phone and dialled Roy’s number, on the off chance she would catch him.

“Hello?” a young feminine voice said down the line.

“Hi, this Andy Sachs. I used to work with Roy, I was just enquiring after him as I’ve only just heard the news,” she said, her voice slipping into work mode.

“Just a moment,” the young woman said, before a familiar voice reached her down the line.

“Andy?” Roy said.

“Hey you, how you feeling?” she said.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I’ll get there,” he chuckled.

Andy smiled in relief. “God, that’s really good to hear.”

“It’s good to hear your voice again, it’s been sorely missed,” Roy said.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

“No, don’t apologize. I may have had a heart attack, but my powers of deduction are intact I can assure you. Although next time, don’t worry about me so much,” Roy said knowingly.

“I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position,” Andy admitted, apologetically.

“You should let me worry about the Dragon,” Roy said. “Have you spoken to her at all?”

Andy sighed and leant back in her chair. “Not since May, no. She made herself quite clear. I think there might even be a security alert on my name at Elias-Clark,” Andy chuckled, although not without a hint of bitterness.

“I’m sorry, Andy,” Roy said.

“Well, what’s done is done,” Andy said. “Are you still at New York Presbyterian?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I won’t be discharged for another couple of days.”

“Would you mind if I stopped by this afternoon? I know you _say_ your fine, but I’d like to see for myself,” Andy said with a chuckle.

“Of course, come and distract my daughters so they’ll stop fussing. If you could bring me a steak too, that wouldn’t go unappreciated.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’ll be tackled by a nurse as soon as I step foot on the ward?”

“Health food. You should see what they’ve done to my dinner. I’m eating flavourless rabbit food,” Roy lamented down the line.

“Well, just be thankful that red wine is good for your heart,” Andy said.

“You make a valid point, Miss Sachs,” Roy chuckled.

“Okay, well I need to get back to work or I’ll never get out of here. I’ll see you sometime mid-afternoon,” Andy said.

“See you then,” Roy said before ending the call.

* * *

Cassidy fiddled with the Pandora charm bracelet that was around her wrist as they approached the hospital. She hadn’t been fond of hospitals since an allergic reaction to strawberries when she was nine, and today was no exception.

Their mother had told them about Roy after they got home last night, and Caroline had begged her to allow them to visit today. Miranda had eventually conceded, allowing Cara to take them, but ‘only for 15 minutes’ and Jane would call ahead first.

Jane had taken over as Mom’s first assistant just before they went to France. Cassidy didn’t mind Jane, but she much preferred Amy. Apparently she was moving to the London office for a new job next week. Caroline was excited, because the changing of the first meant there would be a new second to terrorize soon enough, and for her sister, this was a game that _never_ got old.

“Is that Andy?” Caroline said suddenly, pointing to a woman emerging from the hospital. There were people everywhere and Cassidy scanned the crowd, trying to locate the woman her sister was referring to.

“Andy!” Caroline shouted, before breaking away and running off.

“Caroline!” Cara yelled. “Shit,” she cursed and Cassidy smirked. Cara _never_ cursed.

Cassidy watched her sister bee-line towards a tall leggy brunette which was without a doubt Andy.

“Come along Cassidy,” Cara said as she walked brusquely in the same direction Caroline had.

“Andy!” Caroline called out again and Cassidy watched with interest as Andy stalled, turned, and then proceeded to look like a deer caught in the headlights as she spotted Caroline. The reporter’s eyes shot up and scanned the crowd, relief capturing her features as she spotted Cara.

Cassidy watched as she visibly relaxed.

“Hi Cara,” Andy said as they finally caught up with Caroline. She still looked a little strained.

“Andy,” Cara said with a smile. “You’re looking good. How’s work?”

“Busy as always, just heading to an interview now in fact.”

“Right, girls we really should be getting inside. Your mother said 15 minutes and visiting hours will be over soon,” she said.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Bye Andy,” she said, following Cara’s directions. The nanny followed closely behind her to ensure she kept moving, and Cassidy could hear Cara begin the lecture about running off, as though they were 5-years-old.

Cassidy stayed and looked up into the brunette’s face. “Hi,” she said softly.

Andy’s face relaxed and she smiled. “Hey Cass. How’s school?”

“It’s good,” Cassidy said, before pausing. “Thank you for Harry Potter, and the book.”

Andy nodded. “How was your birthday party?”

“It was fun. We just got back from France,” Cassidy said.

“I can see the tan,” Andy chuckled. “Your Dad?”

“Yeah, Mom was working. She’s finishing early today though,” Cassidy said with a shrug. “It’s her birthday.”

Andy nodded, and looked suddenly uncomfortable, as though she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Cassidy!” Cara called, and Andy’s head shot around before turning back.

“You should get going. Go see Roy, it’ll make his day,” Andy said, her smile forced.

Cassidy reached out and grabbed Andy’s wrist. “She misses you a lot,” she said quietly.

The brunette above her took a deep breath and schooled her face, much the way her mother did when she didn’t want them to see she was upset.

“I need to get to my interview,” Andy said quietly. “It was good to see you, Cass.”

Cassidy nodded before releasing Andy’s wrist and moving to follow Cara.

“I don’t see why we had to rush,” Caroline protested as Cara shuffled them towards the building.

“Andy’s a busy person, she was obviously in a hurry,” Cara said.

“That’s such bullshit and you know it,” Caroline said.

Cara took a deep breath. “We’ve discussed this language Caroline, as has your mother.”

“Whatever,” Caroline said as they moved inside the building.

Cassidy took a deep breath as the familiar smell overwhelmed her senses and her palms began to sweat. As she tried to distract herself she focused her mind on Andy.

Andy missed Mom, of that Cassidy was quite certain.

* * *

Andy rounded the corner away from the hospital and proceeded to rest her hand over her chest. Her heart was still beating a hundred miles a minute.

The girls had shown up out of the blue and she certainly wasn’t expecting it today of all days.

 _Jesus_ , she thought as she took a deep breath.

As Andy’s thought shot back to Cassidy, she shook her head. She recognized the feeling that had slipped in unbidden. _Hope._ Hope was a dangerous emotion, and one which was completely and utterly useless in this situation. Hope was something she simply couldn’t afford.

Hope was something that needed to be crushed. Immediately.

Andy reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, dialling a familiar number.

“Hey, I know it’s only been a couple of days,” Andy began, as the recipient picked up the call, “But how do you feel about a light dinner tonight? My shout.”

* * *

As the girls regaled her with stories from their holiday, Miranda couldn’t help but smile. The townhouse finally felt like home again. The twins’ energy seemed to seep into the very floorboards and bring about a warmth that had been absent for far too long during their vacation.

“I’m glad to see your father intervened,” Miranda said, raising her brow as Caroline talked about the young French boy she appeared to have spent quite some time with over the course of the holiday.

Miranda could see the flicker of annoyance in Cassidy’s face, and she knew the next two years were going to spell trouble.

Love, it appeared, would be the downfall of them all. However, she couldn’t shelter them forever as much as she would like to.

“It’s not like we were doing anything!” Caroline protested.

Cassidy scoffed.

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes. “I’m glad you had the opportunity to improve your French in the very least.”

Caroline scowled, turning back to her dinner.

“I thought we would be going out for dinner tonight,” Cassidy said, changing the subject.

Miranda smiled at her youngest. “You’ve been away for a month. I thought you might like to spend tonight at home.”

“But it’s your birthday,” Cassidy said.

“Yes, and I can assure you I’ve had plenty of them,” Miranda said. “I simply wanted a quiet evening with my daughters without the circus.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Cassidy said, not completely convinced.

“How was Roy?” Miranda asked then, and watched as both of her daughters shot each other a look. She knew it well. It was the one the used when they were hiding something.

“Good,” Cassidy said, and Caroline nodded quickly in agreement.

Miranda put her knife and fork down, laced her fingers together, rested her elbows on the table and then proceeded to wait.

She watched as they both eyed each other over the table before Cassidy sighed and turned to face her. “We saw Andy,” Cassidy said.

_Ah._

“I presume she was visiting Roy?” Miranda said, tempering her voice carefully.

“I guess so, it was only for a minute,” Caroline said. “She was going to an interview or something.”

“That’s all?” Miranda said.

Cassidy shrugged. “I wanted to say thank you for my birthday present.”

“It was a nice present,” Miranda nodded, as she reached for her utensils and resumed eating.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Caroline said, and Miranda sighed. She should have known better than to think her daughters would simply let this go.

“What else do you wish me to say?” Miranda replied, raising her brow in question.

“I don’t know, something!” Caroline said, getting frustrated. “You miss her, we can both see it. Why are you giving up so easily!?”

“Caroline, I thought we had reached an understanding about this issue?” Miranda said.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d change your mind,” Caroline admitted.

“She misses you,” Cassidy added.

Miranda couldn’t understand why her daughters refused to let this go. “Why on Earth does this matter so much to the two of you?”

“Because it matters to _you_ ,” Cassidy said.

The table fell silent. All three of the Priestly women were paused over their dinners.

“You can’t even deny it,” Caroline muttered.

“That is because I’m not in the habit of lying to either of you,” Miranda snapped, her patience wearing thin. “Yes I miss Andrea, is that what you would like me to say? Regardless of whether or not I miss her, the situation has not changed, nor will it ever change. I have explained this to you Caroline, and I suspect your sister has a fairly good idea as to why things are the way they are. I’ve been patient with you both, but it has been over three months and I don’t wish to discuss this again. Do I make myself clear?”

The girls’ both nodded quietly and Miranda sighed. This was _not_ how she wanted their first proper dinner back together as a family to be.

“Sorry,” Caroline grumbled.

“No, don’t apologise,” Miranda said, as she rubbed a hand through her hair. “I know you’re both concerned, but you have no reason to be. Everything is exactly as it should be. You’re both happy, and healthy and that is all that concerns me at this point in time.”

Miranda spotted the raised eyebrow on Cassidy’s face before it was brought under control. She supposed she only had herself to blame. She recognized their stubbornness well.

Not wanting the evening to descend into sulking, she quickly changed the subject. “I hear that Miss Miller is returning to Dalton this year after having her baby,” Miranda said, and saw Cassidy’s face light up at the prospect.

“Really?” Cassidy said, and Caroline rolled her eyes.

“Yes really, and I have been assured she will be teaching the advanced English course for your grade,” Miranda said, as she stabbed the last piece of her steak onto her fork and lifted it off the plate.

Cassidy beamed.

“You’re such a nerd,” Caroline said as she pushed her now empty plate away.

Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Just because my grades are higher than yours, dumbass.”

“Cassidy!” Miranda scolded. “Honestly! Can’t we manage to have a single civil dinner?”

The two girls turned to look at her incredulously. All of their most serious conversations and debates were always conducted over the dinner table. For Miranda, it was something of a backlash against her upbringing, where her and her siblings were expected to eat in absolute silence.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, all right, fair point. Are you both finished? I had Jane order in desert,” she said.

“Wait!” the girls said in-sync before clambering to their feet and rushing out of the room.

When they returned, they were bearing an admittedly lop-sided chocolate cake, but Miranda felt a slight clench in her chest nonetheless.

As they broke into a slightly off-key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, Miranda felt the burning in her eyes. Yes, she certainly missed that silly brunette, but she was lucky enough to have been blessed with these two beautiful young women who never failed to make her love them both more with each passing day.

As long as that continued, she was sure the still gaping hole in her chest would find a way to close itself over. Eventually.

* * *

Kelly was eyeing her carefully over her meal. They had opted for some cheap Indian, which was something they used to do a lot when they were together.

It was familiar, it was safe, and it was comfortable. However familiar, safe and comfortable were not helping to stop her mind from spinning back to Cassidy Priestly, staring up at her with glistening blue eyes and declaring that Miranda still missed her.

“What are we doing here, Andy?” Kelly said then, putting her fork down.

Andy looked at her, puzzled. “Eating?”

“Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but when we talked about dinner I figured you might call in a couple of months or so.”

“What? Why?” Andy said.

“Well, perhaps because you’re blatantly hung up on someone else?” Kelly said matter-of-factly.

Andy almost choked on her Gujarati Dal.

“Well that answers that question,” Kelly sighed, wiping her mouth. “We can’t have it all, I suppose,” she said, shaking her head.

“Kelly, I—“

“You don’t need to explain. I should have known better. You were a little off on Saturday even.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything,” Andy said apologetically.

“What happened today?” Kelly asked, picking up her beer and leaning back in her seat.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like someone ran over your dog, Andy,” Kelly said knowingly. “The torment is practically bleeding out of your eyes.”

Andy sighed and pushed her plate away, reaching for her drink. “I unexpectedly ran into some people today that are closely related to the person to whom you are referring,” Andy said. “There were some things said that…well, not what I really needed to here at this point in time.”

“And you decided to call me, when? Before or after?”

Andy looked at Kelly with guilt.

“Nice, Sachs,” Kelly said, shaking her head and getting to her feet.

“Kelly wait,” Andy protested. The brunette moved to walk past her, but she threw out a hand and grabbed her arm. “Kel, please?”

“Andy, my life is finally coming together. You know how I feel about you, but I’ve done this once before and it didn’t end well for me. I’ve seen that look you’re sporting before, and you certainly never sported it over me. You want my advice? Whatever it was, you need to finish it,” she said, reaching into her back pocket and dropping a twenty on the table. “If you work it out, call me,” she said as she left.

As she heard the bell of the small restaurant door jingle, she knew Kelly was definitely gone.

Andy shoved the table in frustration, before the tears started stinging her eyes. Everything the other brunette had just said had been correct. God, she wasn’t even a person she recognized anymore; when had she become this person who was so completely and utterly selfish that they didn’t bother to take the feelings of anyone else into consideration?

She threw another thirty down on the table before grabbing her bag and getting to her feet, wiping roughly at her eyes.

As she walked out, Andy wished that she had never laid eyes on Miranda-fucking-Priestly.

* * *

Caroline climbed out of her bed and made her way to her sister's room. Something was off, she could _feel_ it.  
  
She opened the door to find Cassidy sitting up in bed, reading a book.  
  
Her sister eyed her over the top of her novel. "Can't sleep?"  
  
"No, it's not that. Something was bothering me, that's all," Caroline replied.  
  
"Hmm, weird," Cassidy said, before turning back to her book. She was calm, _too_ calm.  
  
"What have you done, Cass?" Caroline demanded then.  
  
Cassidy looked up at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"Don't pull that with me, I _know_ when you're lying."  
  
Cassidy closed her book gently and set it down in her lap, her finger holding her place. "What is it that Mom always says, Caro? That it's not good to run away from your problems? That you should face them head on?" she said simply.  
  
Caroline caught the twinkle in her sister's eye, and she felt the pit of dread forming in her stomach.  
  
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't going to be good.


	24. Where There's Smoke

There was a buzzing in her ear and it refused to stop.

Andy rolled over and cracked an eyelid, nearly falling off the couch she had apparently passed out on. She groaned and grabbed her head as she sat up, her foot kicking a bottle that was looking a lot less full than when she purchased it yesterday.

It was still dark in her apartment, but her phone was making an incessant buzzing on the coffee table where she left it.

She heard a key turn in the lock, and the light from the hall filtered in as the door opened. Carmen reached to flick on the lights and Andy covered her eyes.

“Jesus!” Carmen swore, as she jumped, her hand going to her chest. “Christ, Andy you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” Andy said, her voice hoarse.

“You up working late last night?” Carmen said, closing the door behind her and dropping her bags. She looked exhausted.

Andy shook her head as she sunk her face into one of her hands, the other plucking up a bottle of vodka that was two thirds empty and waving it in Carmen’s general direction before dropping it back on the carpeted floor with a thud.

“Let me make you a coffee,” Carmen said.

“No, don’t worry. I can do it.”

“Tried standing up yet?” Carmen sassed.

“No…”

“Didn’t think so. Stay where you are,” the bartender ordered, before making her way into the kitchen.

As she began clanging around, Andy winced at the noise. Something hit her in the back of the head, and then dropped onto the couch.

“Ibuprofen,” Carmen said, suddenly back in front of her with a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Andy said hoarsely, before the bartender returned to the kitchen.

“So, bad day I take it?” Carmen called out.

“That about sums it up, yes,” Andy said as she popped two little white pills and washed them down with a wince. After Kelly had walked out on her at the restaurant, she had made her way home, stopping at a liquor store on the way for a bottle of Grey Goose. She figured if she was going to drink herself into oblivion, then she might as well do it top shelf. She didn’t currently have the overwhelming urge to vomit, so apparently it had been a wise decision. That didn’t however, save her from the pounding in her head or the fact her mouth tasted like she had just licked a dogs ass.

As the smell of fresh coffee began to reach her nose, her phone buzzed again and she reached to pick it up, not bothering to check to the display.

“Hello?”

“Is it true?” a voice demanded.

It took her brain a moment to catch up before she had a name to go with the voice. Understandable really, given that they hadn’t spoken in at least 6 months. “Nate?” she said.

“Is-it-true?” Nate asked again.

“Nate, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Andy said, the stir of anger finally switching her brain on. “Why are you calling me? It’s…” she paused to pull the phone away from her ear and check the display, “5:50am,” she said as she put the phone back to her ear, puzzled.

“I was up early to sign for a delivery. I have a Google Alert so I can keep up with your articles,” Nate said, and Andy felt an ice cold chill enter her bones. “Are you sleeping with _her_?”

_No._

_No, no._

_Not possible._

Nate laughed down the phone, “Oh my God, I fucking knew it!” he said in disbelief. “I just wanted to know, did it start when we were together?”

Andy’s heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest in panic.

“Nate, listen to me carefully. I am not sleeping with anyone, whatever you’ve heard, I am currently single,” Andy said. It wasn’t a complete lie. She wasn’t _currently_ sleeping with Miranda. “And no, for God’s sake Miranda was my boss, so can you calm down please.”

"Alright. That last bit I believe," he said, “But you should work on your story, because the rest of it? You are, and always have been a _terrible_ liar,” he said before ending the call.

Her heart was thumping in her ears and she felt like she was going to be sick. _Google alert._ _Not good._

She pulled up her missed calls and felt a very visceral sense of dread entering her body.

Missed: Leslie (4)  
  
Missed: Tricia (5)  
  
Missed: Alice (3)

Well, at least her parents hadn't seen anything yet.

_Shit, shit, shit._

"Shit."

* * *

 

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose, her phone pressed firmly to her ear as she paced the length of the kitchen.

“Explain to me how this is possible Leslie, you assured me you had this under control,” Miranda demanded.

“I can control the situation Miranda, but not the people. Perez works on tips. Someone talked,” Leslie said. “He’s a loose fucking cannon. Jesus, I _hate_ bloggers.”

“Who else has picked it up?” Miranda asked.

“No one yet, but give it a couple of hours at most. They’ll be coming after you, _and_ Andy. We’re trying to contact her now, but we’re not having much luck. Tricia is on her way to her apartment.”

“Do whatever you need to keep her clear of this,” Miranda said. “I need you to shut it down. _Now._ "

“I understand Miranda. Do you want me to come and prep the girls?”

“No, I’ll do it. Just fix this,” Miranda ordered, before she ended the call.

Caroline appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Bobbsey,” Miranda said automatically.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Caroline said, suddenly very awake.

Miranda sighed. “Someone has spoken to a gossip blogger about Andrea and I. At this stage it’s only rumour and conjecture and Leslie hopes to keep it that way.”

Caroline stared at her in shock, before her face slipped into complete disbelief with a hint of something else that Miranda couldn’t quite put her finger on this early.

“No pics?” Caroline asked nervously.

Miranda raised her eyebrow at her daughter. Something was _off._ “No, thankfully. So I will need you and Cassidy to ensure you aren’t baited into saying anything that’s quotable. I don’t want you in the middle of this.”

“It’s not TMZ is it?”

“Perez Hilton. However, TMZ will likely pick it up. I know you had plans today,” Miranda continued, “But consider them cancelled. I want you both home until this blows over.”

Caroline nodded. She was conceding awfully easily.

“Caroline. What’s going on?”

“What? Nothing,” Caroline said quickly.

Miranda took a couple of steps towards her daughter before her phone rang again.

Caroline turned around and bolted, heading quickly back the way she came.

Miranda rolled her eyes. She would have to deal with that later.

“Good morning, Jason,” Miranda sighed.

* * *

 

Andy got to her feet to fetch her laptop, her hangover now second priority.

Carmen was standing in the kitchen, staring at her, her mouth open in shock.

“Holy shit,” the blonde said in disbelief, and Andy silently cursed Nate and his typically godawful timing.

“That conversation doesn’t leave this apartment,” Andy said sternly.

“Of course. But Andy, your boss? Your boss, Miranda? _Miranda Priestly?_ ” Carmen repeated. “ _The_ Miranda Priestly?”

“You’ve already met her once,” Andy said as she moved to grab her laptop case from where she had unceremoniously dumped it last night.

“What? When?”

“She came to the apartment a few months ago, it was when Dan was in town,” Andy said as she moved back to the sofa, flicked on the TV and scrolled through until she found the E channel.

“No way, that was _her?_ ” Carmen said.

“The one and only,” Andy said bitterly as she tossed the remote aside, tugged her laptop from its case and began pulling up the society pages for every well-known New York publication.

The Post still hadn’t picked it, so she went straight for the gossip blogs.

There it was.

On the front page of PerezHilton.com was a picture of James and Miranda from the Gala with “BEARD” scrawled childishly across James' face in what looked like an MS Paint hatchet job. Below that was an entry posted in the earlier hours of this morning:

 

 

 

> **Forget the Next Mr Priestly, how about the Next Mrs?**  
>    
>  _An anonymous source in contact with this blogger proposes that Miranda Priestly, fashion maven and eater of husbands is ~~fucking~~ romantically involved with none other than her ex-assistant. Her very **feminine** ex-assistant. _
> 
> _From when, you might ask? No, not from back in the prehistoric age._
> 
> _According to this source the ~~un~~ lucky lady in question is Andrea Sachs, 26 year old reporter from the New York Mirror and La Priestly assistant circa 2006. Feel free to whip out those calculators because trust me, there are no single digits between those two!_

 

“Fuck,” Andy said, sinking back into the sofa.

They had advertised her workplace. Greg was going to lose his shit. Although she supposed that may possibly be the least of her worries. God, she didn’t even know where to start with dealing with this.

Carmen came out of the kitchen and handed her a cup of coffee.

“Sorry,” the blonde apologized, taking a seat next to Andy. “It was a long night at the club and I’ve gotta admit, out of everything you could have thrown at me this morning, that was certainly not on the list.”

“For you and me both.”

“Back in May…” Carmen said carefully.

Andy simply nodded.

“Makes sense why I never saw her here. So when you said ‘Em’ you actually meant ‘ _M_ ’. I thought you were dating that British chick for a bit,” Carmen chuckled. “My bad.”

“Maybe we could sell that as an alternative to the New York Post?”

“The Post?”

“Well, not yet. But, see for yourself,” Andy said, turning the laptop.

Carmen whistled. “Hilton is a creative little shit, I’ll give him that.”

Andy was silent.

“I take it this isn’t good?” Carmen asked

“No, not really,” Andy said, rubbing an agitated hand through her hair.

* * *

 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Caroline demanded as she ran into Cassidy’s room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it.

Cassidy pulled her hair out from under the shirt she had just pulled on.

“Okay, I didn’t,” Cassidy replied calmly.

“ _Cass_ ,” Caroline whined.

“What?”

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Mom is down stairs freaking the hell out. It’s bad,” Caroline said.

“Is there a photo?” Cassidy asked.

“What? No. Not yet anyway,” Caroline said.

“See. There’s no proof. Nothing but a rumour,” Cassidy shrugged.

“You know what TMZ is like! They’ll find something else,” Caroline protested.

“Is Mom trying to talk to Andy?” Cassidy said.

“I don't know! I do know she's talking to _Leslie_ though. What have you _done?_ ” Caroline groaned again.

“Well, she will. None of it will matter soon.”

“Cassidy you’re insane. How do you know this won’t make things worse!?”

“Logic. If the press is already a problem, then she has no reason not to see Andy,” Cassidy said matter-of-factly.

“There are so many ways this could go wrong! How do you know Andy wants to see her!? You didn’t see her after she left here that night. I think Mom was pretty mean.”

“She misses Mom, I saw her at the hospital,” Cassidy said, completely assured.

“Missing her isn’t the same as wanting to _be_ with her. Oh my God, I can’t believe you did this.”

“You can’t say anything,” Cassidy said sternly.

“We’re so dead,” Caroline groaned as she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor.

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Cassidy said. “We need to go downstairs or Mom will think something is up.”

“I need a minute,” Caroline said, holding up a hand.

“Well you might as well read it while you’re waiting,” Cassidy said, putting the laptop in front of her.

“Who the hell is Kelly Kovaleski? Andy never mentioned her," Caroline said.

“What?” Cassidy said sharply.

“I _told_ you they would find something else,” Caroline said, shaking her head. “You are in _so_ much trouble Cass.”  
  
"Or things are simply going exactly according to plan," Cassidy said with a sniff.  
  
Caroline groaned again. This was going to end in disaster.

* * *

 

The page refreshed in front of their eyes, Andy felt her heart sink even lower as a new entry appeared, this time with a picture of her standing on the sidewalk with her phone to her ear. She had no idea when it had been taken, but it was probably picked up from surrounding shots at a political rally someplace or another.

 

 

> **L'Homme-ance**
> 
> _Although further photographic evidence seems to be eluding us for the time being, another source has come forward claiming that La Priestly and one Andrea Sachs were spotted at the launch of L'Homme magazine back in October and were engaged in an intimate conversation._
> 
> _Sources have confirmed that Miss A was, at that time, dating one Kelly Kovaleski, resident barista at Starbucks on West 51 st, located conveniently close to the offices of Elias-Clark and Runway, I might add. _
> 
> _Did the Dragon swoop in and snatch the unsuspecting lamb from her coffee brewing girlfriend?_
> 
> _A source close to Miss Kovaleski claims the pair broke up in November last year. What really happened at the L'Homme launch?  
>    
>  _

It was snowballing, and fast.

“Jesus, Andy. How the hell are they getting this stuff?” Carmen said.

“I don’t fucking know,” Andy said helplessly.

Her phone started ringing again. She didn’t even want to look at it, it could be anyone. She got up and walked away, trying to get a handle on the situation.

Carmen picked it up off the table and looked at the display. “You might want to take this, babe,” she said, and Andy knew exactly who was on the other end of that call.

“No, I don’t think so,” Andy said, just as a frantic knocking began on her door. She stared at it in disbelief, and not without a hint of fear.

She glanced at Carmen, and the blonde put the laptop aside and got to her feet. “I’ll tell them to fuck off,” she said, cracking her knuckles.

“Andy?” a voice called out from behind the door. “Andy, it’s me. Open up!” Tricia called, and the reporter moved to tear open the door.

It was like a guardian angel had just swooped in. Tricia would know what to do. “Tricia, what’s going on?” Andy demanded, blanching as her voice came out high and panicky.

“We’re not sure yet, but someone talked,” she said before her cell went off in her hand. Tricia looked down at her display and rolled her eyes before answering it. “Yes, Miranda?”

Andy reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, her headache back in full force. _Of course._

“Yes, I’m at her apartment now. However I haven’t had a chance to—“

The publicist sighed. “Of course, Miranda,” she said before holding her phone out in offering to Andy.

Andy took it from her hand and lifted it to her ear. “Miranda,” she said, her voice stony.

“Andrea,” came the response. “Do you no longer have a working phone?”

“Oh no, I do. It even has a functioning caller ID,” she said.

“Charming,” Miranda said. “I take it you’re aware of the situation?”

“A little hard to miss this morning with your PR firm bashing down my door, Miranda.”

“Which wouldn’t have been a requirement if you’d answered your damn phone!” Miranda snapped. Andy could hear the anxiousness and agitation in the editor-in-chief’s voice and all it seemed to do was piss her off.

“If you’re about done, your minions are here to handle the situation. I’m sure you can communicate with me through them, you’ve had enough practice,” Andy snapped back, ending the call.

* * *

 

 

Miranda stared down at her phone. She supposed she deserved that. However, regardless of what had happened, now wasn’t the time for Andrea’s signature stubbornness.

She bypassed Tricia’s name in her contacts and dialled Andrea’s cell again, before growling in frustration and tossing it on the counter when it went unanswered.

Cassidy entered the kitchen, her eyebrow raised; “Would sorry have been that hard?” she said as Caroline brushed past her and walked into the room, still in her pyjamas and with her MacBook held open in her hands.

“There’s another one,” the eldest twin said, her tone serious as she put the laptop down on the counter and spun it to face her mother.

“And there will be plenty more I’m sure,” Miranda said vaguely, her focus still on Cassidy.

Her youngest twin was staring at her in challenge.

“What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

Cassidy shrugged her shoulders. “You know I’m right,” she said, moving to open the fridge.

Miranda placed her hands against the edge of the counter and closed her eyes, praying that the day didn’t get any worse.

* * *

 

Kristen strolled in the direction of Emily’s office feeling exceptionally refreshed. This morning’s yoga class had been particularly challenging and she was relishing the burn.

She strolled in without pretence. She knew the Assistant Creative Director would be in early today. “Did you get my email about Amy’s leaving party?” she asked, before coming to a grinding halt.

Emily was staring at the screen of her Mac, her hand over her mouth in shock.

“Emily, are you all right?” Kristen said, raising an eyebrow. Emily was fond of histrionics so this morning could be anything from a broken nail through to Britain getting bombed by Ireland. She had learned not to get overly concerned a long time ago.

“Bollocks,” Emily said then, her hand dropping from her mouth to land uselessly in her lap as she flopped back into her chair.

“I’m sorry?”

“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks,” Emily repeated, her tone one of disbelief. “We’re all _fucked_.”

“Use your words, Emily,” Kristen ordered, tired of guessing.

“Miranda and Andrea,” Emily said.

“What now?” Kristen sighed. She was still surprised Miranda had involved herself in all of that. Sure, she could see the appeal of the brunette, but from a practical perspective it was a publicist’s nightmare. She hadn’t been surprised when it came to end, and she suspected it was by Miranda’s hand.

“Perez Hilton,” Emily said, pointing at her screen.

“ _What?_ ” Kristen said, racing to Emily’s side to see for herself.

Both women stared at the screen as Emily scrolled down.

“Shit,” Kristen said.

“Yes, quite a lot in fact. I need to call Andrea,” Emily said, reaching for the phone.

“What about Miranda?” Kristen said.

“You want to make that phone call, be my guest,” Emily said.

* * *

 

 

“Emily,” Carmen said as Andy’s phone rang for the umpteenth time.

“Just turn it off,” Andy snapped. She ran her hands over her face and looked at Tricia. “What the hell do we do now?”

“First of all you need to calm down. I know this doesn’t look particularly good, but they have nothing substantial,” Tricia said.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Andy said as she began pacing.

“Yes, it is. Andy, no one reputable will touch this until they have something more concrete than hearsay from a couple of mystery sources. Not even Rupert will go after Miranda without a picture at least.”

Andy snorted in disbelief. “You can’t honestly expect the Post to hold back on account of credibility.”

“You’d be surprised. Although have no doubt, they’re all out looking for it now. The world loves nothing more than to tear down a powerful woman. They are going to descend on you and Miranda like a pack of wolves,” Tricia said matter-of-factly.

“This just keeps getting better and better.”

“Leslie and I have dealt with much worse. Given the current situation of your relationship with Miranda, we can pass off any old pictures as a short term, work related stint. Assuming nothing new surfaces, they’ll get bored with it in less than a week and you can both get on with your lives. I take it from your conversation this morning that nothing will?” Tricia asked carefully, eyeing Andy.

Andy shook her head. “No, nothing will.”

“Ok, well, just go to work as normal today. Don’t get baited into saying anything, ‘no comment’ will suffice, or preferably don’t say anything at all. We’ll deal with the rest.”

“That’s it?” Andy said incredulously.

“That’s it,” Tricia said, looking at her watch. “What time do you start?”

“Depends. I try to be at the office at 8:30am usually. Oh God, I should call work and let them know what’s happening.”

“Already done. Just go and get ready,” Tricia said. “If you’re lucky you can get out of here before they track down your address.”

* * *

  
As they sat down to breakfast, Caroline watched her mother closely.

She was agitated.

Extremely agitated.

When she got up from the table for the umpteenth time, Cassidy made a suggestion.

“You do know where she lives, right? If you really want to talk to her, why don’t you just go over there?” Cassidy said as she scooped up another spoon of granola.  
  
Caroline resisted the urge to reach over and strangle her. Her scheme was spiraling out of control and she just kept at it.

Miranda stopped mid-stride and turned to look at Cassidy.

“I can’t just waltz over to her apartment,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes. “You are aware there are photographers camped out on our front lawn currently, are you not? I have no doubt the situation will be the same at Andrea’s apartment.”

“Well, if they already know, what difference will it make?” Cassidy shrugged.

“There is a very large divide between a rumour and fact, Cassidy,” Miranda said.

“Great plan,” Caroline muttered under her breath, thankful her mother had shut her down.

“What was that Ca—“ Miranda began, before her phone started ringing again. She moved to answer it, turning away from the table.

Cassidy snatched her iPhone off the table and unlocked it.

“Cass, what are you doing?” Caroline said urgently.

“Closing the divide,” Cassidy said.

* * *

 

“Miranda, what on Earth is going on? I’ve just had someone from E-C PR in here telling me there’s a blanket ‘no comment’ for any press today. It's barely 7:00am. They shouldn't even be here this early. How the hell did this get out?” Nigel said, watching as Lana scowled from her desk as she fielded yet another call. He had wanted her in for a breakfast meeting and now she was doing the work of the reception staff who weren't due in the office for another hour. 

“Why don’t they call bloody Runway!?” his assistant cursed as she took another call and barked yet another, “No comment,” before hanging up.

“Leslie is still working on that,” Miranda said down the line, tiredly.

“Have you spoken to Six?” Nigel asked then.

“Briefly,” Miranda sighed.

“Didn’t go well I take it?”

“Not particularly, no” she said. “I apologize for dragging the magazine into this.”

“Not your fault. What do they say, all publicity is good publicity?”

“If only that was the case. Jason Archer has called a Board meeting.”

“Jesus, everyone's having an early start today," Nigel said. "Look, it’s the 21st century Miranda, what are they going to do? Even if this does get confirmed you can take them to the mat for discrimination based on sexuality. She’s an ex-employee. Emphasis on the _ex_ ,” he finished emphatically.

“There is always a way around the law Nigel, you should know this by now.”

“Did Leslie run the numbers?”

“Of course,” Miranda said, her tone indicating she thought he was lacking more than a few brain cells.

“And?” he replied, choosing to ignore her snark on account of the fact she had probably had quite a shit day, even by Miranda standards.

“A slight circulation hit amongst the conservatives, that’s all. _If_ the relationship is sold right,” she replied.

“Is that still on the cards?” Nigel asked carefully.

“I think we’re well and truly past that, don’t you?” Miranda said wearily.

“Not necessarily. How good are your apologies?”

“Very funny,” Miranda snarked.

Lana walked up to his desk, around it, and then proceeded to pull his keyboard away from him.

“Miranda, sorry hold on a minute,” he said, before covering the receiver. “Lana, what the hell are you doing?”

“This,” she said as she hint enter.

Nigel felt the colour drain from his face as the front page of PerezHilton.com opened to a photo of two people he recognized all too well. Andy had what looked like a tea towel wrapped around Miranda’s neck and Miranda’s hands were planted firmly on the younger woman’s hips. Andy was grinning broadly, meanwhile the snowy-haired demon had her lips pursed, but it looked almost… _playful._

They were in the _town house_.

“Oh, God,” Nigel said.

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Lana said.

Nigel removed the hand covering the receiver and closed his eyes.

“Miranda?” Nigel said.

“What?”

“You might want to start working on that apology.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“They have a photo of you and Andy,” he paused. “I hate to say it, but it looks suspiciously like it was taken in your kitchen.”


	25. There's Always Fire

Miranda ended her call with Nigel, and her phone began ringing immediately.

She ignored it.

She began counting her breaths, the roaring in her ears making it exceptionally difficult to concentrate. Snippets from last night and this morning began slotting into place, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it sooner.

Miranda took one final deep breath before she turned to face the two 14-year-olds sitting at the dining table.

Caroline paled.

Cassidy moved to get up.

“Sit,” she ordered.

Cassidy flinched momentarily, slowly lowering herself back into her chair.

Miranda kept her eyes firmly on her youngest. Quiet and calculating. She had always known it, but _this?_ Leaking a piece of the story she could certainly attribute to the more pragmatic of her two daughters, something that might stir the pot, so to speak. However the photo was something rash. She expected this of Caroline, but never of Cassidy. Yet, as she looked between her two daughters she knew who was responsible.

Her phone rang again, and she ignored it. Again.

Miranda walked forward until she was standing directly in front of Cassidy. She said nothing, merely held out her hand and waited.

Her daughter didn’t move.

“Now,” she said, her voice deathly quiet.

Cassidy reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, placing it in Miranda’s hand.

“Do I need to bother to check?”

Cassidy paused, before shaking her head slowly.

“I see,” she said simply, staring down at her daughter. “Show me the picture,” she said, turning the screen to face Cassidy, keeping a firm grip on the phone.

Cassidy reached a shaking hand forward, unlocked the phone and pulled up the picture.

Miranda turned the screen back towards herself and proceeded to purse her lips. “Well, you made quite the selection. There will be little use attempting to deny anything now. Although that was the point wasn’t it?”

Her daughters were silent.

“Quite the elaborate little scheme,” Miranda said coolly.

“It wasn’t a scheme, I—“

Miranda held up a hand. “That wasn’t a question. A scheme is exactly what it was. However, in your haste to force my hand, you failed to take everyone into consideration. You have now put not only my own career, but also Andrea’s in extreme jeopardy.”

Miranda saw a tell-tale glistening in her daughter’s eyes.

“Now, go to your room.”

Cassidy got out of her chair and bolted.

Miranda turned to Caroline and raised her eyebrow.

“I explained to you the reasons behind my decision, did I not?”

Caroline nodded.

“You were aware of this this morning, were you not?”

Caroline nodded again.

“Your dishonesty makes you equally responsible, Caroline. I’m extremely disappointed in you,” Miranda said before turning her back to pick up her phone and dial. “Yes, I’ll need a car immediately. Can you please ensure that Cara is collected from her residence and brought here,” she said before ending the call.

Miranda turned back to find Caroline still seated, looking quite afraid.

“Go and join your sister,” Miranda ordered. “I will speak to you both about this, at _length_ , tomorrow.”

“Tommorow?” Caroline said incredulously, her voice shaking. “But it’s only 7:00am.”

“Yes, I am well of that, however, I have nothing to say to either of you at this moment and suspect I won’t for some time. Now _go_.”

“Mom,” Caroline pleaded.

“ _No_ ,” Miranda said. “Upstairs. _Now_.”

Caroline choked out a sob before following after her sister.

Miranda was unmoved. She was in shock. Of all of the possible scenarios she could have ever predicted, this hadn’t even crossed her mind. Her girls had been through this time and time again. The idea that they would bring it down on their own heads simply _astounded_ her.

Miranda lifted Cassidy’s phone and looked at the picture once more.

No, there would be absolutely no denying anything now.

* * *

 

 

Tricia swore down the phone before turning to Carmen. “Can you get Perez Hilton up?” she asked.

The blonde with the heavily bleached hair nodded, and Tricia couldn’t help the hand that moved to touch the ends of her own as she took in the destruction straightening irons had reaped on the other woman.

“Oh fuck,” Carmen said, and Tricia sighed as she moved to view the most recent post.

“Well, Leslie certainly wasn’t exaggerating,” Tricia noted. “There will be no stopping this now.”

“This is a pretty private photo,” Carmen said. “How the hell did they get this? Hacking? The Brits were into that shit, weren’t they?”

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t think so, no. If that was the case then we’d be dealing with Murdoch’s people at the Post,” Tricia said, letting out a humourless laugh. “No, this is something much simpler.”

“What?” Carmen said, tilting her head in question.

Tricia looked her dead in the eye. “Plain old everyday treachery.”

* * *

 

“Those little shits!” Emily swore as Kristen sat back in a chair, stunned.

“Surely you don’t think the _twins_ did this?” Kristen said, incredulously.

“ _Think?_ ” Emily said. “Oh no, I bloody _know_ they did. This has got those two scheming little demons written all over it.”

“This is a bit more than a prank, Emily,” Kristen said.

“Look at this photo Kristen. It was taken in the town house. Absolutely no one else could possibly get close enough to take this.”

“Christ, are they insane?”

Emily stared at Kristen, her eyebrows in her hairline. “Are you _serious?_ Have you met those two!?”

“What’s Miranda going to do?” Kristen said then, her face worried.

“There’s not a lot she can do,” Emily said, her tone concerned. “I don’t think those two have any idea what they’ve just done.”

* * *

 

  
Leslie stormed through down the hall, cursing. The phones were ringing off the hook for a comment, and she had nothing because Miranda wouldn’t pick up her fucking phone and half her staff weren’t even at the office yet.

Patrick came out of his office and stepped in her path, holding his hands up. “Now Les, I think you should take a breath.”

“I _told_ her she should let me prep the twins for these things!” Leslie swore. “That is the absolute last time I bend my own damn rules for Miranda-fucking-Priestly.”

“Well, lesson learnt. Now what?”

“She’s been backed into a corner, there’s no bloody telling what that woman will do!” Leslie cursed. “Christ, those little shits. If I get my hands on them I’m going to wring their bloody necks. What’s the sentence for double homicide these days?”

“Take a breath,” Patrick said with a chuckle. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to go track down Miranda-fucking-Priestly aren’t I? I highly doubt the press will be surprised by her publicist arriving on her doorstep.”

“No, somehow I doubt it. Quite a picture isn’t it. I’d go so far as to call it cute,” Patrick said.

“Well we can count our blessings for that I suppose,” Leslie said, digging in her pockets for her keys.

“You’re driving? Where you planning on parking? Her place is going to be swamped.

Leslie growled. “How is it possible that it’s not even 8:00am and I already want this day to be over?”

“Honey, you say that at least once a week. Let me call you a cab.”

* * *

  
The front door opened and Miranda could hear the roar from outside before it slammed closed with force.

She walked into the foyer and was met with a harassed looking Cara.

“Christ!” Cara swore. “Is it my imagination or have they gotten _worse?”_

“I’m sorry about this Cara,” Miranda apologised.

“Not your fault,” Cara said knowingly.

Miranda didn’t bother to deny the suggestion in her tone. She had been the girls’ primary nanny for almost five years, she knew them well.

“Miranda, are you all right?” Cara asked. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Well, that’s yet to be determined,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re apologising for.”

“I should have known yesterday. I’m assuming it was Cassidy?”

Miranda nodded.

“She was awfully quiet after we ran in Andrea. God, I should have let you know, I didn’t think she would go and do something like this.”

“Well it’s done now. Is the car still waiting out front?” Miranda asked brusquely.

“Yes, but you’re not going to—“ Cara started, before she stopped herself.

Miranda moved to the closet and pulled out her coat. It was warm out, but the extra armour was needed today.

“No internet, no video games,” she paused. “In fact, you can strip every single book from Cassidy’s room also. I want her to spend the day thinking very seriously about what she has done,” Miranda said before pressing her sunglasses onto her nose and turning to face the door.

She took a deep breath and stepped out into the fray.

* * *

  
Andy stared at the picture, gobsmacked.

She was wrapped in a towel, and her hair was dripping water down her back.

“My recommendation at this stage is that you avoid the office, at least for today. I’ve spoken to your editor and he thinks it’s advisable that you work from home today.”

“Like hell!” Andy said.

“Andy,” Tricia said, her tone placating. “You’ve never dealt with this kind of media attention before. Miranda makes it look effortless, but I can assure, it’s not. They’re camped out at Elias-Clark and the Mirror offices. Miranda’s house is swamped. They’re out for blood.”

“How is this happening?” Andy said. Everything was going from bad to worse. “I need to call Greg and make sure I still have a job,” she continued, getting to her feet.

“Andy, your credibility as a reporter won’t be in question. Fashion and politics don’t cross, you haven’t done Miranda any favours,” Tricia said.

“That won’t stop them questioning my right to my job though, will it?” Andy said.

Tricia sighed and shook her head. “Look, we’re not there yet. It’s a scenario Leslie and I _have_ considered, but it’s more likely the focus will be on your age difference and the fact you’re an ex-employee for now.”

“Oh, so sexual favours at Runway is a whole lot better?” Andy snapped.

“Runway is not your current employer,” Tricia said, all business. “You also never received a promotion there. Not on paper anyway.”

“What about Paris?”

“Well, you can thank Emily. Jumping in front of a cab is the best thing she ever did for you. You had every reason to accompany Miranda on that trip.”

“What about the rest?”

“Miranda kept that heavily locked down at the time. I think the events of 2006 are well and truly buried.”

“Forgive me if I have little faith in what remains buried right now,” Andy snapped.

“Do you think Kelly will provide us with a statement confirming your relationship?” Tricia said, pondering the situation. “That will help considerably in putting distance between your relationship then and your relationship now.”

“Relationship?” Andy said, aghast.

“Yes,” Tricia said then, seriously. “I would strongly advise that you mend fences with Miranda, at least for the time being. ‘Relationship’ looks a lot nicer on paper than ‘illicit affair’.”

Andy looked at Tricia incredulously. “I can’t deal with this,” she said, “I’m going to get dressed.”

“Fine, take a moment Andrea,” Tricia called as she walked away, “But then you need to have a civil conversation with Miranda. Things will move a lot more smoothly if you’re a united fr—“

Andy closed her bedroom door. She moved calmly to her dresser, picked up her brush and began running it through her hair. She walked over to her closet and began selecting an outfit, eventually settling on a pair of standard black dress pants, a white blouse and a warm grey blazer with black lapels and black flap pockets. The colours were strong, and paired with a pair of black Prada pumps she would look every bit the consummate professional that she was.

“Civil,” she spat.

No, she was dressing for war.

* * *

  
Miranda drummed her fingers impatiently on the armrest inside the town car door. Trust the girl to live at the other end of Manhattan, forcing them to crawl through abysmal traffic. Her initial adrenaline was beginning to wear off into exhaustion, and she had a feeling she was going to need it.

She pulled off her sunglasses and put them aside, glancing briefly in the direction of the privacy screen. God, what she wouldn’t do to have Roy and his dry sense of humour right about now. She momentarily considered calling him, before she shook the idea off as ridiculous. She was a grown woman, she was perfectly capable of dealing with her own problems. Particularly when they were of her own making.

It had been over three months since she had seen Andrea, and she had no idea how this was going to go, or even how she wanted it to go. The last time they were face to face she had done something quite despicable. She wasn’t sure quite where to even begin in repairing the rift that had been of her own making. However, she had little choice now. She refused to go through this with her publicists acting like lawyers in a divorce settlement. The next few days would be difficult enough fighting with the press, without having to fight Andrea as well.

The woman was understandably angry, but she had never known her to be beyond reason. Surely a simple explanation and apology would suffice.

Miranda rolled her eyes at herself. This was Andrea Elizabeth Sachs. The girl was more stubborn than she was.

What a mess. It had all come out in the end anyway. She could have followed Tricia’s recommendations, and taken a controlled hit. They both could have. Oh, but no. She just _had_ to go full nuclear on the situation and now it was probably going to descend into a veritable circus. It had already begun.

Her thoughts flashed to her daughters and her face hardened.

Well, she would just have to deal with it, wouldn’t she? She was Miranda Priestly. She had single-handedly rescued Runway from its plummeting circulation numbers in the early 90s. She had built an empire and carved out the perfect life for herself. She wasn’t about to allow it to be destroyed by the bottom feeders of the New York press corp. She wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way, not even Andrea herself.

Miranda straightened her back, raised her chin and then reached for her sunglasses. She leant over and hit the intercom. “You have ten minutes.”

* * *

  
Andy walked out of her bedroom and moved to pick her laptop up off the table, where it was still resting in front of Carmen.

“Andy, what do you think you’re doing?” Tricia said.

“Going to work,” Andy replied.

“Andy, Greg already sa—“

“If Greg wants me to do something, he can tell me himself. You’re not my keeper.”

“Well, actually, he _has_ tried to call you,” Carmen said, waving her phone.

Andy glared at her.

“Andy, I know this situation is difficult, but can you please take a breath and at least try to think about this rationally.”

“I have. I’m not hiding out here for the rest of the week. I’m going to get on with my life. I’m not about to let this affect my job.”

“Andrea, this won’t stop at your offices. They’ll tail you to your interviews, to every press conference. You’re going to have your own personal entourage of photographers preventing you from doing _exactly_ your job.”

“I’ll work from my desk.”

“Or you could work remotely from here, like I suggested, and save yourself running the gauntlet of photographers and videographers,” Tricia said.

Andy looked at Tricia helplessly.

“Look, I know this looks pretty bleak right now, but if there’s one thing I know about the tabloid press it’s that they are like a bunch of ADHD kids on a sugar high. They never focus on one thing for too long. I know it’s hard not being able to have any control over the situation, but trust me when I say I’ve done this many times before. So, just let me do my job. Please?”

Andy dropped down on the sofa next to Carmen, her laptop resting in her lap.

Carmen looked at her sympathetically. “She’s seems to know what she’s doing,” the bartender said with a shrug.

Tricia’s phone rang and she looked at Andy apologetically before turning away.

“Do you want your phone?” Carmen asked tentatively, nudging her shoulder with her own.

Andy laughed mirthlessly. “Not particularly, no. Do you want to give me the summary?”

“Do you have the rest of the morning?” Carmen chuckled with a smirk.

Andy groaned. “Mom?”

“Not yet, so that’s something, huh?”

Andy cracked a smile. “Thanks Carmen.”

The bartender shrugged. “Any time, Sachs. I don’t know why we don’t hang out more often. You sure know how to throw a party,” she said with a grin.

Andy chuckled and shook her head.

“Well where the hell is she!?” Tricia said suddenly to whomever was on the other end of her call.

Andy and Carmen’s heads both shot up in the publicist’s direction.

“God, that woman is a pain in the ass!” Tricia cursed.

Andy rolled her eyes, having a fairly good idea to whom Tricia was referring.

“Miranda?” Carmen whispered.

“No doubt,” Andy said.

“No,” Tricia said. “I have Andy and the bartender, but not the Devil.”

“The _bartender,”_ Carmen mouthed in mock offense and Andy smirked.

“The woman’s a workaholic. She’s probably gone to the off—“

There was a firm knock on the door and all three women’s eyes shot to the door.

Tricia groaned. “Hold on,” she said down the phone before turning to Andy. “I don’t suppose either of you were expecting any visitors?”

“Nope,” Carmen said, and Andy shook her head. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know who was behind that door.

Tricia approached and looked through the peephole. Her curse said it all, before she took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Miranda,” Tricia said, her tone even.

“Tricia,” Miranda replied. “I’m here to speak with Andrea, and as she won’t take my calls this seemed like the most viable option.”

Tricia stepped aside, apparently well and truly aware of who paid her wages.

As Miranda entered, Andy put her laptop aside and got to her feet.

“Yes Leslie, she’s here,” Tricia said down the phone, closing the door. “But, you might want to call back,” she said as she shot a glance at Andy. “Carmen, how about we discuss what you’re not going to mention outside of this apartment, hmm?” Tricia said, still holding the phone to her ear as she indicated towards the front door. 

Andy shot Carmen a glare as the bartender got up from the sofa and moved toward Tricia, leading her in the direction of her room instead and leaving Andy alone in the living room with Miranda.

“Well this day just keeps getting better and fucking better, doesn’t it?” Andy said bitterly, before she turned and moved into the kitchen.

“Andrea,” Miranda said.

“Just go home, Miranda,” Andy said as she flicked on the kettle. “Tricia has this under control.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Miranda sighed. “However we’re going to need to discuss this…” she paused, apparently searching for the right word, “…situation. You can’t avoid me forever.”

“Really?” Andy said incredulously. “ _Me,_ avoid _you?_ ”

“Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of words,” Miranda said.

“Perhaps?”Andy said. “ _Perhaps?_ My God, you’re truly unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yes, well, that may have been mentioned on more than one occasion,” Miranda admitted.

Andy rolled her eyes before turning to pull down a mug from the second shelf. She grabbed a chamomile tea bag and threw it in before moving to wait for the kettle, crossing her arms across her chest and proceeding to drum the fingers of one hand erratically on her bicep.

She didn’t even know why she was making tea, she just needed something to distract her hands from wringing Miranda’s neck. “Why are you here, Miranda?” she said, not bothering to face the other woman.

“I want to ensure that we both come out of this unscathed,” Miranda said.

Andy turned to stare at her. “ _Unscathed_?” she said, her arms falling her sides and her fists clenching. “Even present situation aside, there has been absolutely _nothing_ about this that has left me unscathed. I have never had anyone treat me the way you did. It was humiliating, and worst of all I was prepared to forgive you for it all, only to have your assistant for all intents and purposes tell me that under no circumstances was I to contact you again. Your _assistant_ , Miranda.”

“Andrea,” Miranda said, taking a step forward.

Andy was glad there was a counter top separating them. “No, I’ve spent enough of the past year running through hoops for you, only to have it all thrown back in my face. I want you to leave,” Andy said, her hands now shaking.

“Andrea, we should talk about this,” Miranda said, her voice turning stern.

“No, the time for talking about this was three-fucking-months-ago!” Andy snapped. “Instead you decided to make all the decisions for everyone and now look where we are!”

Miranda rubbed a hand across her forehead and Andy could see the strain on the older woman’s face. She looked tired. God, they were both tired.

“I didn’t come here to argue,” Miranda said. “I came to say that I made a mistake.”

“Well, you’ve said it,” Andy said. “Now, _go_.”

Miranda looked about as helpless as she had ever seen her, but the older woman persisted on holding her ground.

“Miranda,” Andy growled.

“No,” Miranda said. “I’m not leaving until we’ve discussed this,” she finished stubbornly.

“Oh, that’s your big plan is it? Camp out in my living room?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.”

“For Christ’s sake Miranda, can you stop being so goddamn difficult for once in your life?” Andy demanded.

“No, I don’t think so, no.”

Andy growled, grabbing her keys off the bench and walking out into the living area, past Miranda and straight towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Miranda said sharply.

“Out,” Andy said, ripping open the door and slamming it shut behind her.

* * *

 

  
The kettle started whistling in the kitchen and Miranda moved to turn it off. She braced her hands on the counter and dropped her head momentarily before taking a deep breath and straightening up.

She shook her head. _What were you expecting?_

“Where is she?” Tricia demanded, appearing in the living room.

“Gone,” Miranda said.

“Gone where!?”

Miranda glared at the publicist with a look that spoke volumes about stupid questions.

“I suppose that’s her phone still sitting on the table,” Tricia swore, moving towards the door.

“Do you want me to go after her?” Carmen said.

“No, you stay here. I don’t need any more faces attached to this right now,” Tricia said. “Watch her,” she said, pointing at Miranda before flying out and closing the door firmly behind her.

Miranda eyed the girl standing across from her. She was in skin tight black leather leggings, a pair of all-black Converse and an equally black tank top.

“So, what did you do this time?” the blonde, _Carmen_ said.

Miranda’s eyes shot up from the woman’s outfit to her challenging gaze.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” Miranda said coolly.

“You’re in _my_ house, lady,” Carmen said.

She had a valid point, Miranda thought. However, that did _not_ mean she would abide being spoken to like this.

“That does not entitle you to information about my personal affairs,” Miranda snapped.

Carmen scoffed in response. “They’re right about you, aren’t they?”

“Who?” Miranda said, bristling.

“The papers. What is it they like to call you? Ice Queen? Or is it _Snow_ Queen?” Carmen said.

“How _dare_ you,” Miranda said, her voice lowering in warning. She would give the girl a little leash on account of bringing this to her front door, however, there were limits.

Carmen scoffed again. “How dare _I?_ ” she said. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve put Andy through these past few months? She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. What gave you the right to do whatever it was you did and then just show up back here? She’s been a wreck.”

Miranda felt her control slipping and she clenched her fists so hard her nails began digging painfully into her palms.

Carmen continued. “Why would you even allow yourself to get involved with her in the first place if your only intention was to hurt her? She’s too good for the likes of you,” the bartender finished, going straight for the jugular.

Miranda felt the wind being swept out of her sails. As much as she despised to admit it, the woman had a point. She should never have put any of them at risk. She should have used her head and stayed well and truly clear.

However, that was no longer an option on the table. The only thing she had left was the hope that she could salvage something from what she had so callously thrown away.

* * *

  
As Andy descended the stairs she cursed the fucking elevator that never worked, she cursed Miranda for being here, she cursed the press for bringing her back into her life, she cursed Nigel for ever putting the possibility of this in her head in the first place and above all she cursed herself for throwing herself in head first without considering the consequences if it all went wrong.

Oh the press, the bullshit, _that_ she had prepared for. She had expected this. However the train wreck that had become her personal life? No, that she absolutely had _not_ been prepared for. Miranda had taken over everything, and then taken it all away in one foul swoop.

And now?

Now she was back, and what exactly was it she wanted? A happy couple to soften the blow? A pretty face for the press? A nice cover until it all died down, at which point she could bow out? Although rest assured Miranda would likely do it more gracefully this time.

Andy squeezed the keys still clenched in her hands. She needed some fresh air. She couldn’t think straight. Seeing Miranda again had ripped open old wounds and her anger was back as viscerally as it had been the night she had been left standing, half naked and abandoned against the desk of the older woman’s study.

A _mistake_. That’s what Miranda had said. She had thanked her for her goddamn-fucking- _services._ Who _does_ that!?Andy gripped the keys harder until she felt the steel biting into her palms. She needed to get out of here.

As she finally descended the last steps she moved swiftly toward the exit of her apartment building and shoved open the door with very little pretence.

That, it would seem, was quite the mistake.

Andy screeched to a halt as wave of cameras went off and she suddenly found one far too close to her face.

“Andrea, is it true you’re dating the Dragon?” someone yelled.

"Andy! Were you two screwing in the _Runway_ offices?”

“Do you still role-play as her assistant?”

“Andy! Who wears the pants, you or La Priestly!?”

“Scratch the pants, who wears the strap-on!?” someone yelled, and there was a ripple of laughter over the frantic clicks.

Andy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That last one _had_ to have been TMZ. She schooled her features and grit her teeth against the urge to punch the nearest photographer. Today was _not_ the day to piss her off, but she wasn’t about to make this worse.

“Can you take a step back please?” Andy said evenly to one particularly aggressive individual before turning to the rest. “Now, I hate to disappoint you all but the party line right now is ‘no comment’,” she said firmly. “My PR company will release a statement in due course, but for now I would request that if you plan on sticking around that you have the courtesy of at least allowing me enough distance to draw breath,” she said, flashing a glare at the original offender.

There was a chuckle before they resumed.

“What about Miranda?” someone shouted.

“What did her ex-husbands say?”

“Give us a smile Andy!”

“Is your mother younger or older than the Snow Queen?”

“No comment,” Andy repeated evenly. As she took in the scene before her it became clear that she wasn’t going anywhere solo today. She turned and walked as calmly as she could back into the foyer.

Someone had obviously caught the door, and she could hear the ruckus continuing behind her until she reached the second floor. At least they weren’t bold enough to break the law and follow her in, although she wouldn’t put it past them.

As began ascending the stairs again, Tricia came flying down towards her.

“Oh, good. I thought you’d taken off,” Tricia said, trying to catch her breath.

“That was my plan,” Andy said. “Although little chance of that now,” she said, waving her hand vaguely back in the direction she came from.

“They probably tailed Miranda’s town car,” Tricia shrugged like this was just an everyday occurance. “Did you go outside?”

Andy nodded.

Tricia took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “What did you say?”

“No comment,” Andy said.

“Good. Anything else?” Tricia asked.

“That you would provide a statement in due course. Did you forget I happen to work for a newspaper?”

“Yes, but you’ve never been on _this_ side of the story,” Tricia said.

Andy rolled her eyes.

“About that statement,” Tricia began, “You do realise you’ll actually have to decide on something _for_ said statement?” she said, her eyes raising up in the direction of Andy and Carmen’s apartment.

Andy followed her eyes and rubbed a hand across her face. She could still hear the muffled roar of the photographers outside of her building, and the presence of the woman just one floor above her.

She was trapped.

Andy turned and leaned against the wall of the stairwell. She titled her head up as she felt tears suddenly begin to flood her eyes. “What exactly am I supposed to do?” she said, drawing a deep breath through her nose before tilting her chin back down and staring at Tricia.

“I can’t answer that for you, you know that,” Tricia said.

Andy choked out something that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. “I wish you could.”

Tricia smiled. “May I make a suggestion?”

Andy waved her on.

“How about you go upstairs, and listen to what she has to say?” Tricia said. “Look, I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she broke it off _for_ you. She never wanted this to happen. She was concerned about the effects this relationship would have on your career and your future. Andy, she never wanted to take away your opportunity to build something for yourself.”

Andy rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”

Tricia looked at her, a little surprised.

“Tricia, I’m not an idiot. I know exactly why she did what she did. The problem was she didn’t bother to talk to me about it, about any of it. Instead, La Priestly made a decision and that was that. I’m not her employee Tricia, I’m supposed to be…”

“…her partner?” Tricia supplied.

“She treated me like a subordinate, at best,” Andy said.

“Well, you did decide to date _The_ Miranda Priestly,” Tricia said.

Andy chuckled humourlessly as she wiped her eyes.

“You’re messing up your make-up,” Tricia scolded.

Andy sniffed and adjusted her approach, dabbing gently with her fingertips under her eyes.

“Look,” Tricia began, “A conversation won’t kill you. She obviously cares, and to be honest, what have you got to lose at this point?”

Andy didn’t bother to answer her. The weight on her chest told her she had plenty to lose, and more. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to put herself back on the line and run the risk of suffering even more in the future. There was absolutely nothing to guarantee her that Miranda wouldn’t toss her out on her ass the second she became an inconvenience.

“Need I remind you that it’s not _you_ standing on _her_ doorstep?” Tricia said, and Andy realised she had a point. “Although you’ve still somehow managed to let her get the upper hand.”

Andy knew she was being baited, but she couldn’t help getting her back up.

“Oh there we go, there’s a bit of that fiery woman from this morning,” Tricia sassed.

“Oh, shut up,” Andy growled.

“Right, you ready? Because as much as I love the décor, you have a perfectly good apartment to entertain me in,” Tricia finished.

Andy pushed off the wall, took a breath and continued her ascent, Tricia hot on her heels.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Tricia said from behind her, “I left her alone with your bartender, and she looked none too pleased with Miranda.”

Andy let herself chuckle at that as they approached her door. She opened it without ceremony, ignoring the glare Miranda was shooting at Carmen. “Can you give us the room?” Andy said, moving to stand in front of the blonde bartender who had apparently decided to defend her honour.

“Gladly,” Carmen said with more than a little snark in Miranda’s direction, before Tricia pulled her aside and they made themselves scarce.

Andy moved into the kitchen and stood in front of Miranda, careful to maintain a safe distance. "Half of the New York press is camped on the sidewalk in front of my building,” she said, matter-of-factly.

The snowy haired editor sighed. “I apologize. This wasn’t my intention. In fact, this is the complete opposite of what I had intended,” Miranda said tiredly.

“Well, it’s done now,” Andy said.

Miranda nodded once in agreement.

“What time are you due at the office?” Andy said as she looked down at her watch.

“I had Jane cancel my morning,” Miranda said.

“The girls?”

“Home with Cara.”

“House arrest?” Andy asked.

“Something along those lines, yes.”

The conversation stalled, and Andy watched as Miranda adjusted a bracelet on her wrist.

“This used to be easy,” Andy said quietly, as Miranda’s eyes shot up from her bracelet.

“I made a mistake, Andrea,” Miranda said.

“You’ve said that already.”

“And I meant it,” Miranda reiterated.

“Well done. The great Miranda Priestly admits for _once_ in her life that she’s wrong and I’m supposed to, what? Be grateful? Beg to be allowed back onto the hallowed grounds of the Kingdom?”

“Of course not,” Miranda said.

Andy sighed, knowing full well this wasn’t helping, and silence descended again. “I just don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

“I understand that Andrea, if I could have protected yo—“

“Protected me? I didn’t want your protection Miranda!” Andy snapped. “What I wanted was your respect!”

“You have it,” Miranda defended. “You have _always_ had it.”

Andy felt her eyebrows migrate up her forehead. “If you respected me you would have treated me like a fucking person,” she snapped. “Not some pawn you could sacrifice whenever you felt like it.”

“Andrea, that’s not what I was doing!” Miranda protested.

“It doesn’t matter what you were doing. It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. What you brought down on me was worse than any of this,” she said. “This we could have handled, but that? I don’t even know how people come back from that. I can barely look at you. I always knew you had a cruel streak Miranda, but this went further than even I could have imagined.”

Miranda was silent. All previous sense of bravado was gone. In fact, the editor-in-chief looked lost and it was a look so unfamiliar that it unsettled Andy more than she liked.

“Let’s not talk about this,” Andy sighed. “Let’s just decide what’s in the best interests of the girls, and our careers and then be done with it.”

“Done with it?” Miranda said.

“Yes, done with it,” Andy replied, her tone cool. She knew it was petty, she knew it was cruel, but there was something deep within her that wanted to see Miranda Priestly bleed and suffer just as she had. She had been left powerless, incapable of doing anything but to sit back and watch as Miranda set everything alight and then proceeded to seal the deal by throwing James Mercer onto the pile.

“That is _not_ why I came here,” Miranda said suddenly, her tone sliding to the lower end of the temperature scale to match Andy’s and her voice regaining its strength.

“Well, then I have no idea why you’re here,” Andy said firmly.

“You know exactly why I’m here,” Miranda said.

“To save your skin? To save mine? Am I missing something?” Andy demanded.

“To save _us_ ,” Miranda barked.

“ _Us?_ ” Andy said, barking out a cold laugh.

“Yes _us_ ,” Miranda countered, taking a step forward.

Andy raised a hand to stop her any closer. “No, you gave up any and all rights to be near me three months ago.”

“I made a mistake Andrea, don’t do the same.”

“Don’t put this on me!”

“I’m not, this was my fault.”

“Well at least that’s something we can agree on,” Andy spat.

“You’re angry,” Miranda said.

“Well, no shit Sherlock!” Andy said, losing all grip on eloquence.

“For Christ’s sake Andrea, I’m _terrified_ ,” Miranda snapped suddenly, her voice breaking.

Andy closed her mouth.

Silence engulfed the entire apartment, the only sound the familiar hum of the refrigerator.

Andy stared. In front of her stood Miranda Priestly, La Priestly, Dragon Lady, Ice Queen, Bitch in Heels, The Devil in Prada and for the first time in the entire time she had known her, she was _vulnerable_. Not angry, vicious, cutting or just plain mean; not lashing out. She was so present in that moment that Andy had to blink to be sure of what she was seeing. It was like someone had stripped back everything that made the icon and standing in her pokey kitchen was a fifty four year old woman with white hair, two kids, and a trail of divorces behind her. There was no Runway, there was no reputation to salvage, no careers to be saved. It was just Miranda.

It felt like the entire world had ground to a halt and was waiting precariously to see just how it would start back up again.

Andy took a deep breath and was surprised to find it catch.

She took an involuntary step forward, and caught herself before she simply kept going.

“Miranda, I don’t understand,” Andy said, her tone near pleading. Everything she had based her ire on was being pulled away, like someone had found that single thread and tugged, allowing everything to unravel around her.

Miranda crossed her arms across her chest, and it looked like she was trying to keep everything in, but from the look in her eyes she wasn’t having much luck.

“I don’t understand it myself,” Miranda said with a laugh, but it was as empty as anything Andy had ever heard. “The truth is that you _terrify_ me,” she continued, “Everything about you is dangerous. My trust for you, in you; the fact my control slips the second you enter a room. Andrea you scare me. In fifty three—”

“—Fifty four,” Andy said offhandedly, finding her voice amidst her shock.

“—fine, in fifty _four_ years,” Miranda continued, with a mild glare that looked more like herself, “People have come close, but never like _this_.”

Andy couldn’t help it. The anger was slipping through her fingers like water and there was little she could do to grip onto it the face of this.

“What does this mean?” Andy said quietly.

“I don’t know what it means,” Miranda said honestly, “I can’t put this into words that will make you understand. However, I have come to realise—as my daughters so kindly provided the opportunity to do so—that I don’t wish to live without it any longer. I no longer wish to live without _you_ any longer. I miss you, Andrea. I missed you when you left in Paris and I certainly miss you now.”

That Andy could understand.

The gulf between them was closing quickly and Andy couldn’t stop it. “I’m still angry with you,” she said defiantly as she stepped closer.

“I know,” Miranda said, taking a step forward, and this time being met with no resistance.

“You haven’t even said you’re sorry,” Andy growled then.

“Sorry didn’t seem quite sufficient,” Miranda admitted.

Andy found herself barely a hairsbreadth away from the snowy haired editor and she couldn’t stop her hands for reaching for the one thing that had been absent for far too long. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she said, rolling her eyes at herself before she closed the distance and pressed her lips against Miranda’s.

Home.

It felt like _home._


	26. Nothing's Ever Perfect

There was a persistent vibrating noise behind them, and Miranda growled. She pulled apart from Andrea and prepared to go to war with whatever was interrupting what was turning out to be quite the successful reunion.

“My phone,” Andrea said, a little breathlessly. “It’s been going all morning,” she said as she extracted herself from their embrace and moved out to the coffee table.

Miranda took a deep breath and touched her hands to her lips, not quite believing what had transpired since she woke up this morning.

A sharp intake of breath caused her to turn and watch the colour drain from Andrea’s face as she picked up the phone.

_Five minutes of peace. Am I really asking all that much?_

“What is it?” Miranda asked, careful to contain her frustration.

“Not good is what it is.”

“What have they dredged up now? My second ex-husband?” Miranda said, brushing her hand lightly through her hair.

“Worse. My mother’s calling.”

Miranda felt her lips purse. _The woman couldn’t possibly have managed **worse** timing_ , she thought. Someone was out to punish her, she was quite sure of it. She sighed, “You should take it Andrea. She’s probably worried.”

“You can’t be serious!” Andrea said, looking up before the phone started again in her hand, forcing her attention back down.

“I’ll call Leslie and speak with Tricia. Go speak with your mother.”

“What am I supposed to tell her?”

“The truth,” Miranda replied.

“And exactly what is it that right now?”

Miranda chose to ignore the uncertainty in the reporter’s voice. She had brought this down on herself and now she simply had to persevere. “Whatever you think it is. You know where I stand.”

“No. Actually, I don’t.”

“Public Andrea, and everything that comes with it,” Miranda said matter-of-factly, as though that should have been obvious.

“Are you sure?”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “What did I just say not five minutes ago? Don’t make me repeat myself Andrea, you know how much that thrills me.”

Andrea rolled her eyes.

“Did you expect anything less?” Miranda said in response.

“No, Miranda,” Andrea sassed.

“Call your mother,” Miranda said. “I don’t intend to spend the entire day trapped in this apartment by the paparazzi. I’d prefer to deal with them sooner, rather than later; and I dare say it might be worth giving your parents a little warning.”

The young brunette looked at her before steeling herself and dialling, raising the phone to her ear and walking in the direction of her bedroom.

“Mom?” she heard Andrea say before the door closed with a gentle snick.

Miranda looked skyward and took a breath, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out her own phone and turning it back on. She knew it was irresponsible, but she had delegated this morning’s work. She lived in hope that her staff were capable of managing a few meetings and ensuring the magazine didn’t burn to the ground in her absence.

She winced as she scanned the list of missed calls, noting Jason Archer’s personal line was close to the top. She had assured him two hours ago she would contain this. He was not going to be impressed with this picture. That was going to have to be dealt with sooner rather than later, she thought, but first things first.

Miranda pulled up Leslie’s number and dialled. “Where are you?” she said as soon as the publicist answered.

“Your town house. Love what you’ve done with the place,” Leslie said. “I found a nice chair in the den I intend to chain you to the next time we have a PR crisis.”

“Lovely,” Miranda said.

“You do realise I have a company to run, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Miranda replied.

“Well next time things go to hell in fucking hand basket how about you try letting me know what the fuck is going on so I can do my job without having to chase you all over Manhattan!” Leslie cursed.

“Are you done?”

“Not in the slightest. We will be discussing the terms of your contract when this is over,” Leslie said.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “I need you to pull all of your research in regards to circulation numbers for Runway, and any expected losses or gains as a result of this. I need it to be ready within the next hour. Jason Archer has been trying to contact me and he could pull the proposed Board meeting up to any time he sees fit. I don’t wish to be unprepared.”

“I’d recommend a lawyer,” Leslie said. ‘Someone specialising in HR. I have a couple of names.”

“We’re not there yet,” Miranda said.

“Nevertheless,” Leslie said knowingly.

“Fine,” Miranda replied.

“You’ve had a good year Miranda, and discrimination cases look ugly.”

“I live on hope.”

“Worry about it when the time comes. Let’s deal with the immediate situation, shall we?” Leslie said. “Can you get Tricia for a conference? I’m assuming she’s still with you?”

“She is,” Miranda said.

“And I must say, Cara is an absolute dream,” the publicist continued as Miranda made her way towards the door she had mistakenly opened the first time she had visited and was in search of the bathroom.

“Yes, she is. And I don’t expect to come home to find you’ve been tempting her away,” Miranda said as she knocked on the door.

“She made me breakfast,” Leslie said.

“She’s more hospitable than I would have been, knowing your temper,” Miranda said as the door opened and her focus shifted to the professional looking blonde before her, blatantly ignoring _Carmen_ who was lingering in the background.

“I have Leslie,” Miranda said to Tricia. “Living room?”

Tricia nodded, and moved out into the hall.

“That’s my cue,” Carmen said with a yawn. “Thanks for the company Tricia, but I really need some sleep,” the blonde said with a smile to the publicist.

“Advisable,” Miranda said, eying the blonde up and unable to resist a parting shot. The woman looked like death. Although having spent the evening tending to people who thought frequenting a club on a _Monday_ was a lifestyle choice, Miranda wasn’t at all surprised.

Carmen flipped her off before closing the door in her face.

“Charming,” Miranda muttered, as she pulled her phone away from her ear hitting speaker as they moved back into the living room.

“You’re on speaker,” Miranda said.

“Right, what’s going on Tricia?” Leslie demanded.

“Well, to be honest, I have no idea. Miranda?” Tricia replied. “In fact, where’s Andy?”

“She’s speaking to her mother,” Miranda said.

“Ouch,” Leslie said, and Tricia winced.

“Indeed,” Miranda said, casting a glance towards Andrea’s bedroom door.

“Well, last I heard there was a 26-year-old who wanted to claw your face off,” Leslie snarked down the line.

“That’s no longer the case,” Miranda said.

Tricia shot Miranda a look. “That’s not confirmed yet, Leslie,” the publicist said in warning.

Miranda glared at the blonde.

“Okay, well let’s presume that it is, for now,” Leslie said. “Miranda, it’s out. That photo was a nail in the coffin of ‘working relationship’. Not even I can spin that. I’m fairly sure you’re aware of this.”

“Yes,” Miranda said.

“Tricia has informed me they also tailed you down there,” Leslie said accusingly, before continuing, “And Andrea walked right into the fray, her photo is all over the internet so they know you’re both up there in that building.”

“So, now what?” Miranda demanded.

“Well, you can guarantee they’ll have every entrance and exit from this building covered, unless you plan on getting airlifted out,” Leslie said.

_Well, actua—_

“No, Miranda,” Leslie growled in response to the sudden silence.

Miranda let a small smile dance at the edge of her lips and Tricia smirked.

“I can practically see the two of you twittering away from here,” Leslie said accusingly down the phone. “We have two options: one, you both ignore it and let them speculate and start digging as they will. Two, we take them head on. I strongly advise the second. Tricia?”

“I feel this would be in Andy’s best interests also. However, I would also like to reiterate my request for the twins at this time,” she said as a door opened behind them.

“No,” Andrea said stepping back into the living room and apparently catching the tail-end of Tricia’s request. “My stance is the same as before. The girls are kept clear. I’ll agree to anything else.”

Miranda shot a grateful glance back over her shoulder, but it quickly turned to concern as the look on the other woman’s face told her things hadn’t gone particularly well. She bit back her anger at Andrea’s mother, knowing it wasn’t going to be productive.

The phone in the brunette’s hand started buzzing again and she sighed. “I should get this,” she sighed. “It’s Dad.”

“Andrea, are you all right?”

The brunette waved her off before heading back the way she had come, the door closing with a little more force this time.

“Okay, well that’s settled,” Leslie said. “Tricia, chase that barista and get a comment, even if you have to beat it out of her. Miranda, I’ve just had an email from Marisa and they have everything compiled and will send it to you digitally. When do you want to parade out for the press?”

“Today,” Miranda said.

“Well, looks like we’re on the same page then. Do you want a statement dra—“

“No,” Miranda replied sternly. “This I can handle myself Leslie, thank you.”

“All right, all right. General gist is yes, you’re in relationship; no, it didn’t start at Runway; yes, you became reacquainted at the L’Homme launch; no, you didn’t steal her from the barista, you started seeing each other in the New Year. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Try not to get too creative,” Leslie ordered. “Keep it simple.”

“When have you ever known me to be superfluous?”

“That—actually—is a very good point. Keep a tight rein on your writer then,” Leslie ordered.

At that Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. _Control Andrea?_

“Is that all?” Miranda asked.

“Pretty much, the team will control the rest. Say your piece and then come what may. Oh, and look as young as possible when you leave that building. I don’t want Miranda Priestly the mother, I want La Priestly, fashion goddess.”

Miranda bristled and Tricia winced.

“You have quite the way with words Leslie, has anyone ever told you that?” Miranda said, her voice low in warning.

“You, on a number of occasion’s old girl,” Leslie sassed. “Tricia?” she continued.

“Mmm hmm,” the blonde responded.

“Make sure there are no deviations,” Leslie ordered before she hung up.

Tricia chuckled nervously in Miranda’s direction, and the snowy haired editor-in-chief looked at her in warning before reaching for her phone.

“Jane,” Miranda barked down the line, before taking a breath and schooling her tone. “I need you to contact Jason Archer and tell him I will be in touch as soon as I can. Tell him I am currently preparing to release a statement which I will send over in advance, and please forward him the demographic research from Leslie which should be in my inbox. Tell him I will be more than happy to meet with the Board, however, tomorrow morning is preferable due to the change in circumstances of which I’m certain he is aware. Also, I need an outfit. No business attire and nothing matronly, however, it must be appropriate for daywear. Also something for Andrea, consult with Serena or Emily as they’re aware of her sizing. That’s all,” Miranda said, ending the call before turning to Tricia.

“Do you have everything you need?” Miranda asked the blonde who was typing something on the phone.

Tricia’s head shot up and she nodded. “Yes.”  
  
“Good, now get out,” Miranda said.

Miranda watched as Tricia’s jaw dropped. “Mi—“

“I pay your salary Tricia, I don’t pay for your comfort. Wait in the hall, or downstairs, I don’t care. We need some privacy.”

Tricia took one look at her face before nodding hastily, grabbing her bag and exiting through Andrea’s front door, leaving Miranda alone in the living room.

She took a deep breath and sat down on the sofa, hedging a glance at the closed door which Andrea had passed through a few minutes earlier. She could still hear the mumble of conversation.

She looked at her watch.

It was 8:45am.

Over the course of the last three hours her entire life had been turned upside down and the consequences were still unclear. There was no way to predict what would happen now. She knew she wasn’t popular. There was a reason she had collected a number of monikers over the years. Every time it was the same insinuations; that she was brutal, cold and calculating. That she was a bitch. She never really cared what people wrote about her, they could say what they will. The job was done, the standard of which went unrivalled. However, she was wondering how much her reputation would now put them both in jeopardy. How far would the press go to tear her down, taking Andrea along with her?

Miranda sighed and got back to her feet. She was doing herself, and Andrea absolutely zero favours worrying about something she couldn’t control.

She looked at the still closed door and set her focus on her phone instead. If things went south, she didn’t want the girls in the city. She took a deep breath and dialled Samuel.

* * *

  
“ _Querida_ , calm down,” Serena said to Jane, her tone placating while Emily rolled her eyes unsympathetically.

Jane looked like she was about to have a heart attack.

“The new girl is useless, and Jason Archer’s executive assistant has been up my ass all morning because Miranda went AWOL, and now she wants clothes, for her and _Andrea_. She said you’d know,” Jane barrelled off.

Emily took a deep breath and shot a sideways glance at TMZ, still open on her Mac. Andrea had pulled together a fairly decent work outfit, and Emily wasn’t so sure she agreed with Miranda’s decision to change her attire. It was a good mix of high street and designer, not too overpriced. The shirt was perhaps a little too severe. A blouse in a softer material, slightly more feminine might be enough adjustment.

“Jane, go back to the desk. Serena and I will make a selection and have them messengered over,” Emily said, without turning away from the screen.

“Thank you,” Jane breathed. “Oh, and Miranda said something about matronly—not matronly, and daywear.”

“Yes, yes,” Emily said waving her off. “Go.”

“Be nice,” Serena said. “Even you must admit, today is not a normal day.”

“Definitely not.”

“Has she called you back?” Serena asked, referring to Andrea she presumed.

“No, but word from TMZ is that Miranda is currently at her apartment. So Andrea is either tearing strips off her or…” Emily said with a shudder.

“Tearing clothes off her?” Serena added helpfully.

“Why thank you for that,” Emily snarked. “I won’t be able to sleep for a week with the image of Miranda’s naked arse seared into my brain.”

“At least you only thought of her ass?” Serena helpfully provided.

Emily groaned and reached for her desk phone, dialling an internal Elias-Clarke extension. “Lana, is he free? It’s about—“

“Mirandy-gate?” Lana said.

 _“What?”_ Emily said.

“Miranda-Andy, Mirandy, get it?”

“If you value your life and your job I would highly suggest you forget that little portmanteau.”

“Noted.”

 _“Portmanteau?”_ Serena mouthed in question, and Emily waved her off.

“Look, he’s in a meeting right now, can I get him to call you back?” Lana said.

“Fine, tell him if he can’t get me to call Serena,” she said, hanging up.

“What was—how do you say—portmanteau?” Serena asked immediately.

“I’m not telling you, lest I have to hear your creations all morning.”

Serena grinned, pulling out her iPhone, obviously about to Google.

“Look, we can discuss linguistic terminology later. Help me with this,” she said, waving at the picture of Andy. “Jacobs blouse? Leave the rest?”

“I’d like to see the slacks more tailored,” Serena said, tilting her head.

Her desk phone rang and she picked it up.

“Emily Charlton,” she said.

“My, my, how very professional,” Nigel said down the line.

“Meeting my ass,” she snarked. “Look, Serena thinks the slacks need to be more tailored. I say leave them, throw in a nice Jacobs blouse, femme it up a tad. I don’t think Andrea should be overdressed.”

She could hear Nigel clicking in the background. “I see your point, and Serena’s, but she’s dating Miranda Priestly, she’s expected to be overdressed.”

“She’s already been photographed this morning,” Emily said. “If she changes it’ll look staged.”

“All the world’s a stage. No one cares. The picture that will stick is the one of the two of them. Make her fabulous. Sunday brunch, legs and heels. Add a blazer if you want professional.”

“I don’t want responsibility for this for the rest of my life. Miranda can bloody-well choose,” Emily snarked.

“Yes, she can. Send both.”

“What about the Devil herself?”

“Fuckable,” Nigel said.

“You disgust me,” Emily said before ending the call abruptly.

“Mandrea?” Serena said. “Oh, oh, what about Sachsly?” she followed up, looking at her iPhone with glee.

Emily groaned, today was going to be an exceptionally long day.

* * *

 

  
There was a gentle knock on her bedroom door and Andy looked up. Her headache from this morning was back, and had moved from a dull ache to a full blown roar since she had gotten off the phone with her parents.

Elizabeth Sachs was furious, and she suspected her father was more in shock than anything. He had been there to witness Miranda vs Hurricane, 2006 and was at a complete loss as to how she had gone from abject terror when Miranda’s name was mentioned, to sharing her bed. Her mother, on the other hand, had had more than a few choice words which had escalated their conversation quickly into an argument, the likes of which they had never had.

Her head was resting in between her hands as she heard the door open, and a pair of black Christian Louboutin’s soon appeared in her line of sight.

“Andrea,” Miranda said gently, “Take these, they’ll help,” she finished as she held out two white pills and a glass of water.

Andy raised her head and stared at Miranda, “Are you trying to drug me? I think my mother may have suggested it as a possible explanation for our relationship in the last thirty minutes,” she said exhaustedly as she grabbed the glass but waved off the pills. “I already took two a couple of hours ago,” she said by way of explanation.

“I have something stronger in my bag if you need it,” Miranda said. “I take it from your face that it didn’t go well.”

Andy snorted. “That would be an understatement. I’ll be lucky if Mom’s not on a plane right now with a shotgun and a pre-prepared body bag.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to bring my bodyguard to Thanksgiving,” Miranda snarked, and Andy watched as the editor-in-chief pursed her lips, no doubt biting back a number of scathing remarks intended for her mother, choosing instead to move closer to the bed.

Miranda indicated to the space next to Andy and took a deep breath before speaking. “May I?” she asked, her tone gentler.

Andy nodded, closing her eyes against another vicious stabbing at her temple, feeling the bed dip next to her.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked. Well, more _demanded._

“Honestly?” Andy began as she sunk her head back into her hands, “I have a hangover, and it’s not improving. _That_ ,” she said, waving one hand vaguely without opening her eyes, indicating towards her phone, “Did _not_ help.”

“I thought as much, and I’m also not surprised. I can smell the alcohol seeping out of your pores.”

“Also not helping,” Andy growled into her hands.

“I’m not the one who overindulged.”

“Well it was your bloody fault,” Andy said, turning her head to look at Miranda.

“Oh, and where was I when you decided to go toe-to-toe with that bottle of Grey Goose lying under the coffee table?” Miranda said, raising her brow.

Andy shook her head in defeat. “Sometimes you’re too observant, you know that?” she muttered.

“One of my many faults, I’m sure.”

‘God I must look like shit,” Andy groaned, “If the great and powerful Miranda Priestly is admitting to weakness.”

“Well, your sense of humour is still intact I see,” Miranda said, pursing her lips.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Andy said.

“I do believe you’ve mentioned that once or twice, Andrea.”

“Well, you are,” Andy said, a touch of a smirk beginning to play at the edge of her lips. She had missed this. This easy banter was something familiar. This was something she knew how to do. While the rest of the world decided their fates, she at least knew how to sass Miranda Priestly.

“Where’s Tricia?” Andy asked, the absence of her shadow suddenly noticed.

“I thought some privacy was in order. A little breathing room,” Miranda said.

“You kicked her out, didn’t you?”

“No, I simply requested that she find somewhere else in the building to be.”

“She’s still in the building?” Andy said.

“Yes, Leslie preferred that someone stay to see this through its conclusion, or bitter end depending on how you look at it.”

“Where is she? Hiding on the roof?”

“Well, it’s a nice enough day for it,” Miranda said.

Andy chuckled. “I forgot that when you’re not acting insane, you’re actually quite funny.”

“Insane?”

“Yes, did you have another word in mind?” Andy said, but any bite she could have brought to the comment was noticeably absent.

Miranda harrumphed in response to comment, but said nothing.

A part of Andy knew she should be angrier, that she was letting the editor-in-chief off the hook far too easily today; but another part of her was just tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of the rest of the world thinking they had a say in her love life, tired of how the opinions of others had led her to being shut out in the cold for three months, and now had her trapped in her own apartment with the person who was at the centre of it all.

And yet, that right there was the one good thing to come out of today. Miranda was _here_ , not hiding behind a wall of minions in the hallowed halls of Runway, pretending she didn’t exist. The press may be a pain in her ass, but they may have just done her a huge favour, and she wasn’t about to waste it.

She didn’t want to fight anymore.

Andy reached across and tentatively placed a hand on Miranda’s bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was meant to be comforting, but it still felt strange, like she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to. There was little doubt in her mind that they had done some damage these past three months, and it was going to take more than a quick kiss and grope in her tiny kitchen to undo.

Miranda looked at her and drew a shaky breath, her eyes shooting to the hand resting on the material of her coat.

Andy trailed her hand down Miranda’s arm, gliding gently until she reached the back of the editor’s hand and clasped it gently.

Miranda turned her hand underneath Andy’s palm, linking their hands.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Andy said as she looked down at their joined hands.

“You can’t know that, Andrea,” Miranda replied.

Andy looked back up, catching Miranda’s eye. “Well, look. Worst comes to worst, I can always work at Starbucks,” she sassed with a grin.

Miranda scoffed, squeezing her hand gently before getting to her feet. “Speaking of which, I’m going to make some coffee,” she said, brushing the front of her von Furstenberg wrap dress before adjusting her coat.

Andy watched as the older woman began to put some distance between them. “Would you like some?” Miranda asked.

Andy nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be back shortly,” Miranda said as she moved towards the closed door.

They had taken the first step in the kitchen, but there were a few more walls to tear down yet. This conversation wasn’t over. Not for her. Something felt unfinished, and Andy was determined to finish it.

“Miranda?” Andy said then, getting to her feet.

“Hmm?” the editor said as she turned back around, only to let out a startled “oomph” as her back hit the door.

Andy paused, her face inches from Miranda’s as she stared into icy blue eyes. She didn’t know what she was looking for, a hint of malice maybe? Or maybe something that would indicate that this would all fall to pieces again tomorrow, or next week, or next month.

All she could see was tired eyes and _hope_.

* * *

  
Miranda could feel the door behind her, digging into her shoulder blades through the material of her coat. She ignored it and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. Something shifted in Andrea’s eyes and she launched forward and pressed her lips firmly against her own. It was harder than before. The kitchen had felt like a return to the past, this felt like forging a new beginning.

Andrea pressed her against the door more firmly and Miranda could feel the tension of the last three months, the stress of the day, the danger of Carmen only a few metres away and Tricia probably just outside fuelling the encounter. As the brunette grabbed the back of her neck firmly and forced them closer, Miranda let out a whimper of supplication. It felt like giving up, and yet retaking control, away from the press swarming outside, away from her publicists, away from the Board and Miranda pushed back just as hard, meeting Andrea in the middle.

Miranda found purchase in Andrea’s hair as she clawed at it desperately, sinking her fingers into her scalp and willing her to stay.

As her tongue entered Andrea’s mouth, and the kiss grew deeper, she heard a sob escape the brunette.

Miranda pulled back, startled to find the sleeves of her von Furstenberg wrap dress damp.

“Don’t send me away again,” Andrea said quietly, her eyes glistening and filled with an intensity Miranda had yet to witness, “I won’t go through this again. I can’t.”

It was a knife to the chest, and Miranda was certain it would be the first of many to come. “You are never to leave again,” Miranda replied, her voice stern. She grabbed Andrea’s face with both hands, scrubbing desperately at the tracks of tears, “Do you hear me? _Never_.”

Andrea surged forward again, tugging her towards her, catching her lips before forcing her coat off and pressing her back against the door. This time Miranda felt the wood bite into her back, the thin material of her von Furstenberg a pitiful barrier against the force of nature before her.

Their kisses turned frantic and desperate, and Miranda tried not to draw parallels between this and the last time she had her hands on Andrea.

Andrea was refusing to give her the upper hand. She pulled back, and just when Miranda thought the brunette was going to relent her control, she found herself spun around and back up against the door. Her breasts were now pressed firmly against the wood, and she could feel her heart pounding against her compressed chest.

Andrea tugged her hips back with one hand, the other remaining pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her in place. Miranda felt Andrea slide her hand around her waist until reached the buckle of the belt securing her dress. She made quick work of it, the buckle hitting the ground with a thud before the reporter began sliding her hands roughly back up, forcing the dress off her shoulders and down below her breasts.

Miranda felt her breath hitch as the brunette brushed her hands along the exposed skin below her bra, before tugging her back slightly and grasping the front clasp, flicking it open.

Miranda felt the air hit her exposed breasts, and her breath hitched as Andrea trailed her nails lightly up and over both nipples, continuing her ascent to her collar bone, before sliding her hands back down over her breasts, palming them lightly as she placed open mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder.

Miranda tried to turn, but Andrea dropped her hands to her hips and held her in place firmly, her nails biting into her skin. The reporter was gentle, yet forceful; worshipful, yet punishing. Soft lips but firm hands and nails then moved, trailing the length of her back, and her ribs. Those same hands skated along her abdomen, and back up to her breasts.

Andrea was unrelenting. Every time Miranda tried to turn, she was held in place. Every time she tried to reach for her, the brunette brushed her hands away.

“Andrea,” Miranda whimpered desperately. She needed the other woman closer, she wanted to see her, touch her, but the reporter wouldn’t allow it.

Andrea worked her way down. Her hands trailed over the backs of her thighs, caressing her calves. The brunette kissed her lower back before biting the swell of her ass cheek through the material of her dress, forcing Miranda to flinch. It was followed by a soothing kiss before Andrea began working her way back up to standing, and proceeded to use her weight to pin Miranda more firmly against the unyielding wood of the door.

Miranda tried to turn once again, but Andrea grabbed both of her hands firmly and forced her arms above her head. “Keep them there,” she ordered, squeezing gently at her wrists before releasing them and dragging her hands down the length of her body once more. When she reached the hemline of her dress, Andrea hiked it up and proceeded to tug down a pair of flesh coloured stockings forcefully. She pushed Miranda’s underwear down with them and proceeded to press two fingers against her clit before putting her full weight against Miranda’s back, forcing her impossibly firmer up against the wooden barrier before them.

Miranda moaned as she began grinding against the fingers which had begun massaging her clit. She tried to press off the door with her hands, but Andrea forced her back, hard. Miranda’s cheek pressed against the cool wood as she continued to whimper desperately.

Andrea’s other hand had begun its own descent and Miranda felt warm fingers slide down between her ass cheeks, brushing lightly and causing her to arch her back as they slid past, forward and then press teasingly at her already slick entrance.

Miranda sucked in a breath in expectation of what was to come, and was disappointed when she felt Andrea pause. Warm lips pressed up against her ear and the brunette began speaking. “Do you want this?” Andrea asked as she pressed gently at her entrance and Miranda moaned in response, nodding.

“Say it,” Andrea demanded.

“I want thi—no, I want you,” Miranda sobbed, “God, Andrea ple—“ her last sentence was broken with a moan as Andrea pressed two fingers in deeply and began stroking Miranda in time with the ministrations on her clit. She slid her fingers in and out, beginning with gentle strokes, her forehead pressed against Miranda’s cheek as they breathed in unison, punctured only by the occasional moan.

Gentleness gave way to need quickly, and Miranda felt Andrea grinding up against her, the pace of her strokes increasing. She could hear the sound of her own arousal; could feel it trickling down the insides of her thighs.

Andrea pulled back before swiftly adding a third finger and Miranda hissed at the added pressure.

Andrea moaned behind her, before she ground herself more firmly against her, forcing her against the door with every stroke as she began fucking Miranda in time with the thrust of her hips. It was brutal and desperate, and Miranda cried out as Andrea bit down on her shoulder.

Miranda moans had turned to desperate whines as she ground against Andrea’s hands. She could feel the material of the brunette’s dress pants rubbing against her bare ass, the girl’s breasts pressing between her shoulder blades, and her fingers _everywhere_.

She was so close but she didn’t want it to end, not like this.

Using the hands still planted against the door, Miranda pushed back, forcing Andrea off balance. As the girls hands slipped from her she groaned, and used the opportunity to turn and face her, pinning them back together, front to front, with a firm kiss. She grabbed Andrea’s hips, and tugged, grinding them together. She walked them back towards the bed before pressing Andrea down, and going with her. The reporter’s legs wrapped around her hips even as Miranda felt herself pull back to stare down at the woman beneath her.

“Let me, please,” Miranda requested a little hoarsely.

“All right,” Andrea said, and Miranda pulled back to sit on the reporters hips and began unbuttoning her reverently. She pulled Andrea up to sitting just long enough to divest her of her shirt and blazer before encouraging her up onto the bed with deep kisses and whispered requests.

Miranda kicked off her heels, pulled off her stockings and her underwear before crawling up the bed and reaching to unbutton Andrea’s dress pants. She pulled them clear and tossed them aside before moving to kneel in between the reporters parted thighs and lock their bodies together once more. She kissed Andrea deeply, her thigh pressing against the other woman in a way that made the reporter gasp lightly and latch her teeth against Miranda’s lower lip.

Miranda began rocking against her, and they were soon grasping desperately at one another, clawing at every available inch of skin.

Andrea growled in frustration as she was impeded by Miranda’s dress, still hanging limply around her middle. She tore her lips away from Miranda and pulled the dress up and over her head roughly. As the dress cleared Miranda’s head, Andrea paused, her eyes flashing in alarm. “Tricia,” she whispered urgently, eyes darting towards the closed-but-not-locked door.

“Is not here,” Miranda growled, not caring as she began her descent down Andrea’s body, kissing every inch until she reached a pair of plain cotton underwear.

“But she might—“ Andrea began before her hips shot up off the bed as Miranda ran her tongue along the material covering her slit, “Jesus,” she cried out as she gripped the sheets below her.

“Is not here either,” Miranda chuckled before tearing the reporter’s underwear aside and mimicking earlier actions. Her tongue slid slowly through Andrea’s already slick folds and the reporter arched her back, gripping the sheets tighter as she cried out. Miranda used the flat of her tongue to lick her full length before circling that sweet bundle of nerves lightly.

Andrea’s breathing was becoming laboured and Miranda responded, moving down and gently circling her tongue around Andrea’s entrance, penetrating her lightly, over and over. The reporter moaned. She released her death grip on the sheets, threading her hands through Miranda’s hair, pressing her down and begging silently for more pressure.

Miranda dragged the flat of her now saturated tongue back up slowly. She flicked across the reporter’s clit, causing a delicious twitch before latching on and suckling gently.

She felt Andrea’s hands grip tighter, strands of her hair straining against her scalp as the woman beneath her moaned desperately, her hips rising up from the bed and grinding against Miranda’s mouth.

Miranda slid her hands under Andrea and gripped her firmly and she began increasing the pace of her strokes. As her tongue fluttered she heard Andrea’s moans turn to whines as she tried desperately to get air into her lungs.

Miranda slid her hands around and planted them firmly on the younger woman’s hips, forcing her down to the mattress and pinning her in place.

Miranda could feel the muscles in Andrea’s abdomen tighten, and her thighs moved to clamp around Miranda’s head, an attempt at holding her in place. “Fuck,” Andrea cried through gritted teeth, “Miranda, _please_ ,” she pleaded, as her hips attempted to buck up and out of the editor’s grip.

The bed was rocking beneath them as Andrea released her hold on Miranda and moved her hands up to the headboard, clutching on for dear life. She ground herself against the editor’s mouth, fighting against her entrapment.

Miranda felt the dampness flooding between her legs and she clenched her thighs against the throbbing which increased with every moan from the reporter.

“Oh God, I need—“ Andrea cried as Miranda flicked her tongue repeatedly, groaning into the other woman, but giving the reporter no quarter as she pleaded helplessly beneath her.

“M… _please_ ,” Andrea whined, her thighs shaking.

Miranda felt the moment that everything fell into place as Andrea’s breath hitched, and then stopped altogether. Miranda’s eyes snapped open and she watched as the brunette’s slammed shut, her face screwing in concentration, her legs shaking uncontrollably and her knuckles white as she clung to the headboard.

Then she cried out, her hips shooting up firmly and her back arching.

Miranda dug her nails in and held fast, continuing her assault and pushing the other woman higher and higher until she begged her to stop, slumping back to the bed with a tiny whimper, drawing a shuddering breath.

Miranda held herself there a moment, before planting a kiss which caused a twitch and a groan of protest from the other woman. She pulled away, planting feather light kisses on inside of Andrea’s thigh before she felt herself pulled abruptly up and into the reporter’s arms.

Andrea didn’t say anything as she thread her hands through Miranda’s hair once more and pulled her close, pressing their foreheads together before kissing her gently.

Miranda smiled as Andrea released her, followed by a shaky breath. She kissed the reporter once more before resting her head against the girl’s chest.

She felt Andrea’s torso shake and she looked up in concern until a laugh bubbled up out of the brunette’s chest.

Miranda stared at her. “What on Earth is so funny?” she demanded, her voice hoarse.

“Oh God, I don’t know. Us? This? Everything?” she said, a hint of bewilderment in her tone.  

Miranda frowned.

“Oh stop that,” Andrea scolded as she planted a kiss between Miranda’s brows before flipping the woman beneath her. “I missed you,” she whispered, before recapturing the Miranda’s lips and snaking a hand between them.

Miranda felt her smirk into the kiss as her fingers no doubt located the evidence of her further arousal. She was embarrassingly wet, and couldn’t stop herself from grinding instantly against Andrea’s palm. It pushed her quickly and efficiently over the edge, and Miranda came with a shudder, digging her nails into Andrea’s shoulders, holding her firmly against her and absorbing the warmth of the moment.

When her body had finally settled, Andrea pressed a kiss to her temple before rolling off and landing with a thump next to her.

They were both breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling.

Miranda slid her hand across the space between them and laced her fingers with Andrea’s.

She felt the reporter squeeze in response.

It was far from perfect, but in that moment everything seemed right with the world.


	27. The Hyenas Await

“They’ve what?” Miranda said viciously down the phone as she spoke to Nigel in Andrea’s kitchen. Her phone was tucked under her ear as she adjusted her dress.

She really needed to remind that girl to be more careful with her couture.

“I spoke with Jason, but a few of the older Board members are nervous,” Nigel said down the line.

“I’ve got enough to deal with here without having to worry about the outdated patriarchy of Elias-Clark,” Miranda snapped.

“Look, Meredith will go into bat for you, as will Jason. But, you know what it’s like up there, it’ll be those two against an army,” Nigel said.

Miranda clenched her fist. She was well aware of the origin of the investors of Elias-Clark. The face behind the publishing giant was predominantly white, male, and predictably middle-aged. She needed to head them off.

“The shareholders are nervous,” Nigel said. “If it had been _anyone_ else schtupping their assistant you know this would have been brushed under the carpet.”

“Andrea is _not_ my assistant,” Miranda snapped.

At that moment Andrea appeared in the doorway, pulling an old t-shirt over her head. “What’s going on?” she asked as she grabbed the hair tie hanging between her teeth and pulled her hair up into a loose bun.

“Look I know that Mi—“ Nigel began in response.

“Hold on Nigel,” Miranda said, cutting him off and turning to Andrea. “The Board have called an emergency meeting in two hours. I tried to head it off earlier but the numbers haven’t been enough to deter them from locking themselves in a room to bicker about my love life,” she said darkly.

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” Andy said.

“No, unfortunately I’m not,” Miranda sighed before tucking the phone back under her ear and continuing to make coffee.

“Where were we?” Miranda asked, turning her attention back to Nigel.

“We wer—hold on Miranda, sorry,” Nigel said before putting her on hold. Miranda rolled her eyes waiting for him to return. Andrea moved behind her and placed a hand gently on her lower back. She felt herself lean towards the other woman before a knock sounded at the door.

They both looked up.

“I’ll get it,” Andrea said, letting her hand drop and moving away.

“Not like that you won’t,” Miranda replied, eyeing up the woman’s track pants and t-shirt combo.

Andrea raised her brow. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, your Highness?”

Miranda narrowed her eyes at the younger woman as she moved out of the kitchen. “That’s a Jacobs _and_ a von Furstenberg. Don’t think I’m not keeping count,” Miranda growled as she watched Andrea approach the door and look through the peephole.

“Well, lucky for you, your fairy godmother is here,” Andrea sassed before pulling open the door.

“What in bloody hell are you wearing!?” a British accent demanded before Emily came strolling straight into Andrea’s apartment like she owned the place. She had a number of garment bags in her arms, and what looked like an entire kit from the make-up department slung over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes at Andrea as she dropped the kit unceremoniously on the floor before spotting Miranda standing in the kitchen.

Miranda watched as Emily paused, her eyes skirting to the neckline of Miranda’s dress. The editor clenched her fist against the sudden urge to reach up and adjust it. Their eyes met, and Miranda gazed at the red-head in challenge, daring her to mention it. She was aware that Emily and Andrea had spent some social time together, although given the woman’s familiarity with the apartment she was standing in, and the mixed feelings that were all over her face, she was beginning to think Andrea had vastly undersold her friendship with her former co-worker.

“Emily,” Miranda said in greeting. “Dare I ask why my Assistant Creative Director is _here_ and not at her desk where she is required, _particularly_ today?"

She ignored Andrea’s groan, her eyes focussed on the Brit standing before her.

“It’s my lunch break,” Emily said matter-of-factly.

“At 10:30am?” Miranda said, raising her eyebrow.

“Wha—yes,” Emily said, recovering fast. “I was in early this morning.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you felt the need to come down here yourself,” Miranda said, “I have assistants.”

“Assis _tant_ ,” Emily said, and Miranda bristled at the hint of victory in the other woman’s eyes. She certainly had a lot more bravado standing here than she did in the halls of Runway.

“ _What?_ ” Miranda said, waspishly.

“Walked out an hour ago, in tears,” Emily said, her tone slightly smug. “Not Jane, obviously.”

“And to think, you weren’t even there,” Andrea interjected, smirking in Miranda’s direction.

“Very funny,” Miranda said, her eyes shooting to Andrea and sending her a glare.

Emily stared between the two of them.

“Stop gawking, Emily,” Miranda snapped.

“Sorry, Miranda,” Emily responded immediately.

An awkward silence descended in the room before Nigel thankfully came back on the line.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Look, I have to go. Just get down here.”

“I’ll be there before the meeting,” Miranda said before ending the call, turning her attention back towards the two other women still in the room. Emily looked torn between playing the supportive—and noticeably _protective_ friend—and the dutiful employee.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Miranda muttered. “Emily, thank you for those, you can go.”

“Miranda,” Andrea growled in warning.

Miranda looked at her incredulously.

“She’s on her lunch break,” the reporter continued before turning to Emily. “Give me those,” she said, indicating towards the garment bags, “Now sit.”

“Andr—“ Emily began to protest.

“Just do it, Em,” Andrea said before turning back to Miranda. “You can order her about when her lunch break is over, but for now I think a cup of coffee is in order.”

“She doesn’t even drink coffee,” Miranda growled.

“Well, you know where the tea bags are,” Andrea sassed bending down to sweep the kit that was deposited in the middle of her living room and taking everything through to the bedroom.

Emily’s jaw dropped.

“Close your mouth, Emily. You look like a trout,” Miranda snapped.

“Sorry, Miranda,” she said again automatically, arms crossing over her chest in defence.

Miranda eyed Emily over the counter before deciding it might just be worth it to throw the other woman off balance. “How do you take your tea?” Miranda asked as she turned and flicked on the kettle.

“I—what?” Emily stumbled.

Miranda smirked to herself before schooling her features and turning back to Emily, looking at her like she was a complete idiot.

“Skim milk and two sweeteners,” the red-head said quickly.

“We’re in Andrea’s house, Emily,” Miranda said, knowingly.

Emily groaned. “Milk and two sugars.”

“When was the last time you had sugar?”

“2005?”

Miranda turned to get a tea cup as Andrea re-entered the room. “Well, there’s no blood on the carpet, so I’ll take that as a good sign,” the reporter said from somewhere behind her.

“Yet,” Miranda said as she put the tea cup on the counter before plucking up the freshly brewed pot of coffee and pouring out two cups out for her and Andrea while she waited on the kettle. As Andrea moved to pick up her own, Miranda turned back to Emily who was still standing in the middle of the living room. “If you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful,” Miranda said, taking a sip from her mug. “The magazine?”

“Everything is under control. The new Nigel has taken point, anything that _could_ be covered in your absence has been by Serena, Jocelyn and myself. Meetings absolutely requiring your presence have been pushed back,” Emily rattled off.

“Jane has already sent me the revised schedule. I want to know what’s happening _in_ the office,” Miranda said pointedly.

“Honestly? Phones are ringing off the hook, we’ve been fielding calls from investors and designers alike. We had to call in security for my shoot this afternoon because photographers have swooped in everywhere. Frankly, everyone is a little on edge. No one really knows what’s going on and your absence is causing a bit of anxiety amongst the staff as news has filtered out about an emergency board meeting.”

The kettle started whistling and Andrea moved to flick it off, nudging her out of the way with her hip and starting on Emily’s tea.

“What do you suggest I do about it?” Miranda said, interested in this new, less skittish side of Emily she had only seen glimpses of in the office. The girl might have a future in management after all. Sure, she had shaken some of her worse habits which were a hangover from her days as Miranda’s assistant, but she had yet to really do anything other than defer to Miranda’s authority.

Emily hesitated, before opening her mouth. “Get back to the office. It’s your life, who you choose to date should be no-one’s business. The paparazzi have never affected you before, why should this time be any different?”

“Very sound advice Emily,” Miranda said, nodding slightly in approval and fighting against the smirk that was threatening to break onto her face. She could see Andrea staring at her out the corner of her eye like she had sprouted another head. It always had been in her best interests to remain unpredictable.

“Th-thank you,” Emily stuttered, and Miranda rolled her eyes. Still some way to go yet.

“Well, I suppose we should get ready then if I’m to face the firing squad,” Miranda said.

* * *

 

Andy picked up her phone as she paced the living room waiting for Miranda. The woman was taking an age to get ready and she wasn’t sure why she expected any different. Miranda was so efficient in most things, so she had simply assumed this would extend to all areas of her life.

The waiting was beginning to get on top of her, so she picked up her phone and dialled Alice’s number.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” the voice said down the line. “Liam and I have been so worried, after everything that happe—“

“I’m fine, Alice. I’m fine,” Andy said down the line.

“That photo,” Alice said, knowingly.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really banking on that I’ll admit,” Andy said with a chuckle. “How’s work?”

“Everyone’s going crazy. I’m suddenly the most popular woman in the office thanks to you. I haven’t been able to get a lick of work done,” Alice scolded.

“Sorry,” Andy apologized.

“Hardly your fault,” Alice said, and she paused.

“Spit it out,” Andy said knowingly.

“You sound happy. Which was not what I expected,” Alice said.

“Miranda’s here.”

“Which means?”

“Well, I can’t predict the future, but things are…back on? I guess?”

“I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or send my condolences,” Alice said honestly.

“Congratulations will do for now,” Andy said with a hint of warning in her tone.

“Your parents?”

“I’d rather not talk about that right now.”

“Fair enough,” Alice replied. “Look, if you need anything, Liam and I are always about, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “I do.”

“Good,” Alice said, and Andy could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Look, I better get off this phone before someone suspects I’m talking to you.”

“All right,” Andy said. “And look Alice, thanks again, for everyth—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you…tomorrow? Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Andy said, before hanging up.

She twirled her phone in her hand before putting it aside and brushing her hands nervously down the front of her dress. She wished she was in a suit. It had been a long time since wearing designer dresses was something she did every day. Particularly during the day. She felt strange.

“Stop that,” Miranda ordered as she materialised out of the bedroom. Andy pulled her hands abruptly away from the fabric she was manhandling. As she looked up she felt her heart stop momentarily in her chest. Standing before her was La Priestly herself. She was clad from head to foot in Prada. Andy recognized the skirt blazer combo from the March shows. It was blood red, the neckline of the blazer wide and open, showing more chest than Miranda usually favoured in the office. The pencil skirt was tight and form fitting. She was wearing a pair of classic black platforms and she cut such a striking image that Andy didn’t even notice Emily re-enter the apartment with Tricia hot on her heels.

“Red was an admirable choice Emily,” Miranda said, the twinkle in her eye unmistakable, “Don’t you agree Andrea?”

That one little comment, so many months ago, may have been what started it all. She may have been drunk, but apparently it was true that alcohol simply helps you blurt out the truth. She wasn’t about to let Miranda get the upper hand however.

“Black isn’t too bad either,” Andy said with a wink and Miranda smirked, before eyeing her up.

“I preferred Elie’s blouse,” Miranda said to Emily, talking like she wasn’t in the room. Andy rolled her eyes.

“I agree,” Emily said, and she began pushing Andy in the direction of her own bedroom.

“Make sure you pair it with the Armani trousers,” Miranda said. “Also the blazer is unnecessary, the blouse is a statement piece in itself,” Miranda called as Emily shuffled Andy over the threshold and closed the door.

“I can change myself, Em,” Andy said as they came to a halt.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, we haven’t had a chance to chat,” Emily said, keeping her voice low as she turned Andy around and unzipped the Prussian blue dress before stepping back and allowing Andy to step out of it.

Andy turned to face Emily, her hands moving up instinctively to cover her chest. Even a year at Runway hadn’t completely stripped her of her Midwestern values when it came to undressing in front of other women. Unless, of course, it was Miranda.

Emily rolled her eyes. “You’re such a prude,” she said as she moved to the closet and gently removed the Elie Saab lace-paneled crepe de chine blouse from the hanger. It was stark white, with a spread collar, but the accompanying lace allowed Andy’s natural colouring to show through, softening the look.

Andy allowed Emily to help her into it, but she swatted her hands away and buttoned it herself.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Emily said as she passed Andy a pair of black Armani straight leg pants.

“I know,” Andy said as she stepped out of the heels she was wearing and into the pants. Emily moved to exchange her heels and hand back the Prada pumps she had been wearing earlier. She said nothing about the fact that one was located halfway under the bed.

“It’s a lot in one day, Andrea.”

“In or out?” Andy said, indicating to the blouse.

“Out,” Emily said as she eyed Andy critically before nodded. “Heels,” she ordered.

Andy stepped dutifully into the heels before looking squarely at Emily. “Everything’s fine, Em.”

“I would prefer not to see you go through that again,” Emily said then, the sudden gruffness of her voice attempting to overlay the sentiment behind her statement.

Andy smiled and moved swiftly to hug Emily.

“Get off me!” Emily protested. “My God, if you ruin that blouse Andrea Sachs I’ll bloody kill you!”

Andy chuckled before releasing her and stepping back. “How do I look?” she asked, fluffing out her bangs.

“Like yourself,” Emily admitted, happy with the result. “Now, hurry up. Miranda needs to get to the office and I’d rather get this over with. The rest of us actually have work to do today,” she ordered as she pulled open the door and waved her through.

Andy mock saluted on her way past.

Miranda cast a critical eye over her before nodding. “Better,” she said.

“Okay, if you’re all finished playing dress-ups, we really should get this show on the road,” Tricia said, bristling slightly. A couple of hours pacing around the apartment building had made her a little testy apparently. Not to mention, Andy had noted that she couldn’t look Miranda in the eye which meant her hearing may not have been so inaccurate after all.

Andy caught Miranda’s eye and the older woman tilted her head slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but she understood the question in the gesture. Andy nodded at her sharply in the affirmative.

Miranda looked relieved before she turned to Tricia. “Let’s get this over and done with,” she ordered, every bit her reputation in that moment.

“All right,” Tricia said, picking up her phone. “We’re ready,” she said down the line, waiting a moment before ending the call.

Andy moved next to Miranda and touched her arm lightly. “I wish Roy was here,” she whispered quietly.

“As do I,” Miranda admitted gently, moving her hand squeeze Andy’s briefly.

“Don’t be afraid to touch each other,” Tricia said, “Just don’t overdo it,” she finished as she pulled the door to the apartment open. “Shall we?”

Andy threw a glance back over her shoulder at Emily, mouthing a quick thank you before the two of them led the way out.

* * *

 

“They make quite the attractive couple, don’t they?” Ellie said, barely glancing up from the scarf she was knitting as TMZ Live played in the background.

“They certainly do,” Roy said with a smile.

“I suppose you knew all about this?” Ellie said. It was more a statement than a question.

“I had an inkling,” Roy admitted.

Ellie chuckled. “Between you and Miranda that poor girl never stood a chance.”

* * *

 

“You owe me,” Serena said, holding her hand out to Kristen.

“I can’t believe it,” Kristen said.

“What’s not to believe? Miranda is unpredictable with her choices,” Serena said with a shrug. “And I like the blouse.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Kristen said.

“What are you talking about?”

“I just never thought it would get this far,” Kristen said honestly, waving at the two women they recognized on screen.

Serena chuckled. “ _Love_ ,” she said emphatically. “You should try it sometime.”

* * *

 

“Thank you for coming to help,” Jane said tiredly, leaning back in her chair.

Amy shrugged it off. “I’m still Team Runway after all. When is she arriving?”

“She should be here by 12:15pm, and it’s all business as usual. She called me from the town car like nothing had happened” Jane said. “I swear she’s insane.”

“It’s the run up to the September issue, she can’t afford to not be here,” Amy said matter-of-factly.

“If my whole life explodes in the media, I can promise you I’m taking a day off, regardless of what issue it is,” Jane said.

“You and me both,” Amy said with a smile. “You in the pool?”

“Which one?”

“Ellen, Barbara or Oprah?”

Jane laughed. “She won’t do any of them. I’ll put money on that.”

“My, my, we have been paying attention, haven’t we?” Amy sassed.

“No thanks to you, mind,” Jane sassed back.

Amy looked across the desk at Jane. She had to admit, the woman had held her own. Perhaps she had been a little hard on her after all.

As Jane caught her eye, Amy smiled broadly, and the woman with the long, loose, caramel curves smiled back.

“Did you know Barbara Walters has been chasing an interview with her for years?” Amy said.

“I heard she _hates_ Walters. Something about Hepburn and insipid questions.”

“Never get on Miranda’s bad side. That interview was in ’81.”

“She’s hated her for almost 30 years?”

“No one ever escapes the wrath of La Priestly,” Amy chuckled.

“Except for Andy Sachs,” Jane said with a smirk.

“And long may she reign!” Amy said, holding up her hand in faux-toast as the two of them descended into laughter.

“So, who’s doing the coffee run?”

* * *

 

“Please, Cara?” Caroline begged.

“No, you’ll simply have to wait until your mother gets home to tell you one way or the other,” the strawberry blonde said sternly as she made lunch.

“This isn’t fair!” Caroline said. “She did it!” she said, pointing her finger accusingly at Cassidy.

“You’re not 8-years-old anymore Caroline, you both take equal responsibility,” Cara said as she sat the sandwiches down in front of the girls and took a sip of her coffee.

“Could Mom really lose her job?” Cassidy asked tentatively. “And Andy?”

“Yes,” Cara said. “They both could.”

“Way to soften the blow, Cara,” Caroline scoffed as she rolled her eyes.

“Actions have consequences,” the nanny replied matter-of-factly.

* * *

 

Leslie leaned back in her chair and sighed in relief.

There was a light knock at her office door and Patrick poked his head in. “They looked good, Les,” he said.

“Didn’t they just?” Leslie smiled.

“Tricia called to say she’s on her way back in, with vodka,” Patrick smirked.

“Well, if I had heard Miranda Priestly boning her hot 26-year-old I might be feeling the same.”

“You know, I’m not as appalled by that image as I should be. Miranda Priestly is a handsome woman,” Patrick said.

“Patrick, I love you, but get out of my office.”

He laughed before pulling the door closed and leaving her in peace.

Leslie leant back and closed her eyes. They had survived another day.

* * *

 

As Miranda stepped off the elevator into familiar offices, she felt like she was returning home from a long journey. If there was one thing in her life that had remained stable in the last twenty years or so it had been Runway.

That wasn’t about to change, either.

Miranda walked directly towards her office, and spotted both Jane and Amy. The two women were a mirror image of each other, both talking rapidly down the phone whilst typing equally as fast on their keyboards.

She didn’t throw a coat—on account of the fact she wasn’t wearing one—nor did she drop her bag on either desk. She simply nodded towards each of the women in turn as she moved inside to find everything exactly as it always was.

She sat down at her desk, picked up her coffee and turned her chair around to look out of the window. It wasn’t long before there was polite knock at her door, and a tentative, “Miranda?”

She turned around and faced Jane, indicating to her to continue.

“The Board meeting is confirmed for 1:00pm, as you know. Your lawyer has arrived and is waiting in reception. Meredith called and wanted to speak to you before the meeting. Also, Samuel called. He said he couldn’t reach you on your cell and to call him as soon as things settle down. He also asked me pass on his congratulations, although maybe you could have been a little less dramatic about it,” Jane relayed with a wince, and Miranda scoffed. “I’ve compiled a list of everyone who called inquiring about…Andrea. It’s in the green folder on your desk. Donatella said to call her immediately.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Miranda said sincerely and the young woman beamed. “Tell the Art Department I want to see the revised options for the September cover by the time I get back, and send Amy in.”

Jane nodded and left the room, only to be quickly replaced by the short haired brunette who had been with her since early 2007.

My how things had changed in the last two and a half years since Amy had joined Kristen at the desks outside.

“I thought I gave you a promotion,” Miranda said, raising her brow.

“You did,” Amy shrugged.

“And yet here you are.”

“Well, I couldn’t miss all the action now, could I?” Amy said with a smirk, and Miranda shook her head. Perhaps she had been too soft on her assistants since Emily and Andrea left their posts.

“Careful,” Miranda tut-tutted. “You’re not in London yet.”

The brunette at least had the wherewithal to look contrite. Miranda rolled her eyes.

“Regardless, I wanted to say thank you for stepping in. You have done a good job here Amy,” she said simply.

The brunette gawped at her.

 _Yes, much too soft_ , Miranda thought.

“Now, go home,” Miranda ordered.

“Yes, Miranda,” Amy said, turning to leave before stopping herself short. “Miranda?” she said.

“Hmm?”

“It’s…well…it’s been a pleasure working for you. I’m happy it all worked out,” Amy finished before exiting quickly.

Miranda allowed a small smile to play along her lips.

* * *

 

“You think they’re going to fire her ass?” Lana said.

“On what grounds?” Nigel inquired.

“Public image, reflection on the magazine? There must be some clause in her contract they can exploit.”

“Unless the Board can show that Miranda’s relationship has a direct effect on the magazine then they don’t have a leg to stand on. She’s done nothing illegal or wrong.”

“You can’t tell me this won’t have some effect.”

“Ellen and Portia,” Nigel said.

“Oh come on, who are you kidding?” Lana said.

“Have you seen the pictures? They look very striking.”

“You don’t actually think that’ll be enough to make people ignore the gaping age gap or the fact Andy used to be her assistant, do you?”

“This is the public, Lana. We tell them what to love.”

“Pfft, we’ll see.”

* * *

 

“I see you brought an entourage,” Greg said as he leant back in his chair and peered out the window.

“Sorry,” Andy said.

“I told your _publicist_ you should stay at home,” Greg said with a smirk.

“She shouldn’t have gone over my head, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. It was a bit of a shock.”

“To us _all_ ,” Greg noted. “Miranda Priestly, Andy?”

“Yes, Miranda Priestly, _Greg_ ,” Andy replied.

“Well, it’s your life,” Greg said with a shrug. “If you can get the circus under control, we won’t have any problems. However, if this doesn’t die down, we’re going to have to discuss your position.”

Andy dropped into the chair in front of his desk.

“God, I didn’t shoot your dog Andy,” Greg said. “I’m not about to toss a veritable celebrity to the curb. Times are tough, especially in print media. We’ve had a spike in sales today thanks to you. We might have to chain you to a desk though if it becomes an ongoing problem.”

Andy lifted her head. “You’re not firing me?”

“Don’t be stupid. Use your head. This could be good for us: ‘Star Reporter’ Andrea Sachs,” Greg said, gesturing to an imaginary billboard in front of his face.

“Tacky,” Andy said, screwing up her nose.

Greg laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said.

“I know,” Andy smiled. “I really am sorry about all of this.”

“It’s all right, like I said, for now it’s beneficial to the paper. Just work on managing the hyenas downstairs would you?”

* * *

 

“No, I can assure you that this will not be an issue, Cristiana” Miranda said down the phone biting back the urge to sigh. “Yes, I’m aware that Dolce & Gabbana have invested a significant amount in advertising for the September issue. However, we don’t expect that this will have any impact whatsoever on circulation. In fact Marketing is certain this will be beneficial to sales.”

Jane entered with a cup of coffee and placed it in front of her as she listened to Cristiana Ruella, COO of D&G continue. She nodded her thanks before picking up the cup.

“No, my position is not in question,” Miranda explained for the umpteenth time that afternoon. She was beginning to think the fashion houses were under some kind of impression that she was living in a conservative utopia.

“Yes, and I thank you for all of your support Cristiana,” Miranda said before ending the call.

Miranda leant back in her chair and took a deep breath.

 _Assure the investors…we’ll be monitoring the numbers closely…Runway is a trusted brand…not_ all _publicity is_ good _publicity._

* * *

 

Miranda passed through the wall of photographers outside her home and entered swiftly, closing the door behind her.

Cara came out of the kitchen, a tea towel slung over her shoulder and a look she tended to wear when she decided Miranda wasn’t taking care of herself.

“Have you eaten at all today?” Cara said, her tone mildly accusing.

“Not much, no,” Miranda admitted. She wasn’t in the mood to argue. Today had been a long, exceptionally draining day. She had run the gauntlet of shock, panic, determination, and elation, only to find herself mired in anger and frustration as they day wore on.

She despised ever having to explain herself. It was a rare occasion when she actually did.

To have been forced to spend an entire afternoon doing just that was not only tedious but utterly humiliating.

“Come on,” Cara said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I sincerely hope its alcoholic,” Miranda said as she dropped her bags unceremoniously and slipped out of her heels before following Cara.

As she entered the kitchen she was greeted with the sight of Andrea Elizabeth Sachs doing nothing short of inhaling what looked like lasagne.

“Did you bring carbohydrates into my house?” Miranda said, a smirk appearing on her lips.

Andrea held up a hand as she swallowed before answering. “No, but I’m in love with Cara.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “I thought you were still working?”

“I got back here about twenty minutes ago.”

“I could have sent a car,” Miranda said.

“And miss the opportunity to have the paparazzi chase me through the subway?” Andy chuckled.

“I’m glad someone is finding this amusing,” Miranda said as she unbuttoned her coat and pulled it off, slinging it over the back of a chair before sitting down.

Cara dropped a plate of lasagne in front of her with a pointed look.

Miranda picked up her fork without comment. “Where are the girls?” she asked.

“In their rooms. I checked on them an hour ago and they were both asleep. I think the excitement today was a bit much,” Cara said.

Miranda hummed non-committedly. She was still furious with the both of them.

Andrea had gotten up out of her seat and was now moving towards her with a glass of wine.

“Drink,” the reporter said. “I think we deserve it after today,” she said as she placed the glass down gently in front of Miranda, pausing to lightly touch her shoulder before moving back to her own seat.

“On that note, I think I’ll head home,” Cara said, pulling the tea towel off her shoulder and folding it.

“You can stay in the guest room Cara, it’s late,” Miranda said as she picked up her wine.

Cara glanced quickly between Miranda and Andrea before shaking her head in the negative.

“Thank you, Miranda, but I feel like a night in my own bed tonight,” Cara said, keeping her face remarkably neutral. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Cara,” Andy said.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Miranda said as the nanny exited the room, leaving the two of them alone.

“You think they’re really asleep?” Andrea said with a smirk.

“Hiding, I do believe,” Miranda said knowingly.

“How’d it go? There’s only so much you can glean over text message,” Andrea said, piling her fork again.

“I feel like I’m on probation,” Miranda said matter-of-factly.

“Lawyers?”

“Legal counsel was a last resort. It wasn’t needed.”

“So?”

“I’m fine, it’s just been a very long day,” Miranda said, taking another sip of her wine.

“It has, but I’m feeling surprisingly okay about it,” Andrea said.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so. Were you worried I’d have a change of heart?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Miranda admitted. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

“A few photographers,” Andrea said with a shrug and a smirk. “Hey, let’s just be thankful we don’t live in L.A.”

Miranda smiled and she felt the weight beginning to lift off her shoulders. “And you?” she said, turning the topic back to work.

“The Mirror can’t exactly afford a private security detail, so any field work outside of official press conferences will be limited, but otherwise no change for the time being.”

Miranda fought the urge to wince. It had all been a little anti-climactic. Although no one could predict the future, on a scale of local riot to a nuclear holocaust, the fall-out hadn’t been anywhere near as dramatic as she had envisioned now that she was living it.

Irritating, certainly. And no doubt that would continue.

But the end of all things to come? Not even close.

“Stop thinking and start eating,” Andrea said. “Because if you don’t eat that, I will.”

“I can’t believe I’m eating carbohydrates at this time of night. This must be your influence,” Miranda said as she picked up her fork and finally took a mouthful.

She resisted the urge to moan.

“You’d better hope Leslie didn’t offer her a fortune,” Andrea laughed as she nudged her foot under the table with her own.

Miranda nudged her back.

They regarded each other silently for a moment, before Miranda spoke.

“What have I told you about eavesdropping?” she said, raising the volume of her voice so it would carry out of the kitchen.

There was a sound of scuttling feet heading back up the stairs and Andrea stared at her in surprise.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” Andrea said, shaking her head.

Miranda simply smiled and resumed eating.

Andrea took another sip of her wine, she leant back in her chair. “This is good,” she said.

“It was a birthday present from Karen,” Miranda said, looking up.

Andrea looked at her, puzzled momentarily before glancing at the wine and smirking.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I meant this,” she said, waving between the two of them.

She was right.

It _was_ good.

* * *

 

Leslie and Tricia sat in the office, staring out of Leslie’s window.

“Your office chairs are definitely more comfortable than mine,” Tricia noted.

Leslie chuckled. “You want me to buy you new ones?”

“After today? Yes, yes I do.”

Leslie chuckled, before turning to pour them both another vodka.

As she passed Tricia her fresh glass, she held her own up in toast.

“What are we toasting?” Tricia asked.

“Miranda and Andrea,” Leslie said.

“To Miranda and Andy,” Tricia echoed as they clinked their glasses together.

They both turned back to the New York skyline, or what they could see of it anyway.

Leslie smiled to herself. “I love a fucking happy ending.”


	28. Epilogue

**May 2010** ****  
**(Months since Paris: 43)**  
  


_‘Yes, we’re in a relationship. No, Andrea and I were not together when she was my assistant. Yes, we did meet each other again at the L’Homme launch in October last year. No, we did not start dating then, we were acquainted once again in the New Year via mutual friends. Yes, we’re happy, but we would be happier if you weren’t here.’_

_‘That’s all I have to say on the matter. Now, I would appreciate being able to get to my car as Andrea and I have_ real _jobs to attend to._ ’

Miranda walked into the living room and stared at the TV, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t tell me they’re still playing that?” she said to Cassidy.

“Well, it is the most you’ve ever said to the Post,” Cassidy sassed.

 _‘Andy!’_ a photographer yelled in the clip, and Miranda sighed. _‘What about you? What’s it like dating the Ice Queen?’_

The image of Andrea on the screen chuckled warmly, reaching a hand for Miranda. _‘A lot warmer than you’d think,’_ the image of Andrea sassed with a wink.

Miranda bit back an eye-roll. It had taken years in the public eye to train her to the point that she managed not to react beyond a very slight glance skyward in apparent prayer. Regardless, they had caught it. Along with her lack of anger at the comment.

She was positive the reporter let it ‘slip’ as payback.

The screen panned back to a presenter. _‘That was Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs, New York’s fashion queen and favourite political reporter in the iconic impromptu press conf—‘_

Miranda hit the mute button and sat down next to Cassidy as the TV passed into an image of Andrea and herself at the Met two and a half weeks ago. They were standing close, facing each other, the shot catching them both in profile. Andrea is noticeably smirking, whilst she herself is wearing a tell-tale smile. She couldn’t for the life of her remember what had been so funny, but she had to remind Andrea to keep her clever little comments until _after_ they had greeted all of the guests. And away from the press. At all times. They were beginning to suspect she was human, and it simply wouldn’t do.

“You would do well to refrain from looking so smug,” Miranda said in warning to her youngest.

“Are you _ever_ going to let it go?” Cassidy groaned.

“Not until the day that I die,” Miranda said, “And trust me when I say you _will_ be waiting a while.”

Cassidy rolled her eyes. “When’s Andy back?”

“Later tonight,” Miranda said, passing a glance at the screen to see it had moved to an image of Andrea out running. She took a deep breath and pushed down her irritation, knowing it could be much worse. That little ‘impromptu’ press conference outside of Andrea’s apartment building that day had somehow managed to secure them as ‘in love’ and had shot them right up next to Ellen and Portia. ‘Young reporter melts Snow Queen,’ ‘Sachs slays the Dragon,’ and various other witty little plays on the monikers she had collected over the years had had to be suffered through to maintain their happy public image.

It was an unfortunate side effect that interest in the two of them had not waned.

They were _popular._

It irritated Miranda to no end.

“Good,” Cassidy said, pulling her attention away from the TV. “Because Caro won’t shut up about how crap the new Dalton coach is since Miss Lattimore went off to have that baby.”

“Language,” Miranda said automatically. “What’s wrong with the new coach?”

“Nothing,” Cassidy said, rolling her eyes.

“Be sure to remind your sister that Andrea has been working and it _not_ her personal slave,” Miranda said.

“Remind me of what?” Caroline said as she waltzed in, her DSi clutched in her hand, barely glancing up in acknowledgement as she walked into the room.

“That Andrea has been very busy and you’re not to pester her about soccer,” Miranda said. “How was school?”

“Same,” Caroline said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Have you lost the ability to articulate in sentences?” Miranda said.

“Just give me one—“ Caroline stopped to bash the buttons on that infernal machine before groaning and tossing it aside. She slumped into the nearest chair. “It’s okay I guess, but I need Andy to help me with my history essay,” she said then, picking up the trail of conversation. She didn’t bother to ask Caroline why she herself couldn’t assist.

The door closed firmly downstairs and Caroline sat up.

“It’s only Justin,” Miranda said with a small knowing smile as Caroline slumped back into the seat. Justin was her current second assistant. As her house was now overrun with women, she’d decided a change of pace was in order in her office. “Which means,” she continued, “That I have some work to do,” she said as she got to her feet. “10:00pm. No later, and come say goodnight,” she ordered gently as she kissed the girls in turn.

Although some things had changed, some things simply remained the same.

* * *

 

Miranda lay in bed, the book in her lap and her red pen poised. The girls were long since in bed and it was nearing close to midnight. She never usually went to bed so late, but _someone_ had been in D.C. on business for the last two weeks.

She pulled her glasses off, rubbed her eyes and sighed.

Over the last nine months she had become quite accustomed to having Andrea around, and she found she hated it when she was absent. She also hated it when she herself was away. She had barely been back from Europe a month before the Met Gala was upon them, and shortly after Andrea was on a plane to D.C.

Ever since that fateful day in August last year, they had made their best attempt at maintaining a functional relationship in spite of often opposing work schedules and opinions. Neither of them had sacrificed their temperaments upon going public. They both gave no quarter, and frankly Miranda had never been involved in anything like it in her life.

Andrea blew through her days like nothing was impossible. She refused to accept there wasn’t a solution to every problem thrown at her, or them. Her decision in regards to this admittedly _older_ , white-haired, _occasionally_ irritable woman was one she had committed to wholeheartedly, and with a ferociousness Miranda recognized from the halls of Runway almost four years ago. Certainly, they disagreed, but they had both made their decision and never again had their partnership been questioned in regards to past fears.

Andrea Sachs had refused to let anyone or anything stand in their way.

Richard and Elizabeth Sachs had tried, and failed. Come Thanksgiving there had been six of them sitting awkwardly around a restaurant table. ‘Neutral territory’ Andrea had said.

It hadn’t stayed neutral for long. A passing comment about the lack of a home cooked meal and family values spiralled into carefully veiled retorts about clothing choices for middle aged women in Ohio until eventually Andrea had removed each of them individually for what Miranda could only describe as a lecture.

They would all get along—and that was all there was to it—according to the reporter.

By the end of the dinner the only thing Miranda and Elizabeth Sachs agreed upon was that Andrea was exceptionally stubborn, a fact that certainly hadn’t changed in the last six months and Miranda didn’t expect it to any time soon. She was simply thankful that she managed to bypass Christmas with the Sachs’ as Andrea chose to spend it with her and the girls at the townhouse instead. Trying in-laws, especially those living—thankfully—in Ohio, were easily ignored.

The press on the other hand, were not.

Once upon a Parisian town car journey, Miranda had told Andrea they were alike, and in many ways, they certainly were. However, when it came to the public and the press, Andrea Sachs was the Queen of Charm, as opposed to Terror. When the paparazzi got in her way at work, she verbally wined and dined them all, exchanging photo ops for the freedom to do her job. She quickly nixed the twins’ usual weapon of choice in the form of water balloons, and flower bombs from the upper storeys of the town house, much to Caroline’s dismay.

Andrea was open and friendly with the bottom feeders of the media world and they loved it. They followed requests not to harass the girls at school, and no longer seemed to spend as much time outside of the townhouse as they used to. She had become New York’s sweetheart in residence, and the public simply adored her. Her quick wit, ready smile and serious attitude towards work could win over even hardened criminals.

Although Miranda’s arrival at, and subsequent speech outside the Lower Eastside apartment had launched them into the stratosphere, it was Andrea who had kept them there. Miranda had simply become the fashion queen who couldn’t resist the charms of New York’s favoured political reporter.

Oh things hadn’t been all smooth sailing. The Queen of Charm also had quite the temper, and when it came to Andrea (as she had already proven), her strict emotional control seemed to disappear into thin air. When they fought, it was like the apocalypse had arrived, but when they made up; it was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. Behind closed doors, the townhouse had become a lively, passionate place and when she came home in the evenings she could almost feel it, like a constant hum in the background that had never been there before.

It was the quiet moments that got to Miranda the most. It was Andrea sitting on the floor, her back against the sofa as Cassidy laid her head in her lap and discussed politics. It was the tinkle of Andrea’s laughter from the back lawn as she ran Caroline until the girl dropped and then begged for more. It was the soft rise and fall of the reporter’s chest as she slept soundly next to her.

It was also Cara telling her the reporter was at the house every evening the twins weren’t staying with their father when she was away in Europe. “Soccer practice,” the nanny had said, quoting Andrea’s excuse with a knowing laugh.

Yes, the girls’ had adjusted to the new presence in their lives fairly well. That didn’t mean they were always happy about it, however. After things had died down to a manageable level, Caroline and Cassidy soon found that they couldn’t run rings around Andrea the way did with their father and Stephen. The quick witted reporter had an answer for everything, and a way around every excuse. That didn’t mean she didn’t have her weaknesses, and tears always seemed to put the journalist on the back-foot immediately.

Miranda shook her head slightly and twirled the pen in her hand, turning to last week’s shoot. She had been distracted all night and hadn’t done nearly half as much work as she should have. That alone told her that things had certainly changed. The other woman’s ability to upend all facets of her life hadn’t waned yet, and something told her that wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

Although things weren’t always easy between the two of them, there was determination in Miranda to ensure she didn’t lose what she had fought so hard to get back. She had never risked so much, or put so much on the line for a single person at any other time in her life.

Perhaps the Post was right. Perhaps it was a midlife crisis that had spiralled wildly out of control. Perhaps she was like all of those other Executives with their young, attractive spouses. Maybe one day she would wake up and wonder what on Earth she had been thinking.

Miranda highly doubted it, but no one can predict the future. Love fades, people change, and you can’t control everything as much as you would like to.

There was only one thing she could say for certain, and that was, in spite of everything, right now, at this point in time, she was happy.

Over four years ago Andrea Elizabeth Sachs had walked into her office demanding a job, only to walk out on it ten months later. It had been almost four years since Andrea had stepped out of a town car on the Place de la Concorde and then straight out of Miranda’s life, and day which she could now admit had left her equal parts angry and utterly miserable

Even now Miranda struggled to fathom how they had come from there to here. She supposed it all started with a cup of coffee and that utterly presumptuous display of attitude on a Manhattan sidewalk.

Miranda touched her pen to her lip and smirked, remembering the absolute gall of Andrea. It had been a long time since someone had spoken back to her like that. She _had_ enjoyed it, there was absolutely no doubting that.

The door downstairs closed with a thud, and Miranda caught the sound of bags hitting the floor in the foyer. She sat up slightly in the bed and smiled as the clip of heels across the hardwood ended abruptly as they were apparently removed, and soft footfalls began a rapid ascent up the stairs.

Miranda picked up her glasses and put them back on, turning back to the book and feigning concentration.

She heard the reporter approach the door to the master bedroom—which she had left open—and pause in the doorway.

Miranda continued to look at the book, turning a page absently as she began to speak. “Are you planning on standing there all night?” she baited, “Or are you going to come over here and apologize for being away for so long?” she said as she peered over the rim of her glasses, her perfectly shaped brow raised.

“Well, I could always sleep in the guest room. You _do_ look _extremely_ busy,” Andrea said with a knowing smirk, pushing herself off the frame and pointing her thumbs over her left shoulder, “I could just—“ she began.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Miranda said, dropping the book into her lap as Andrea moved towards her, her suit jacket hitting the floor, followed quickly by her skirt.

Zara, Miranda noted absently as she rolled her eyes internally. There had already been a number of debates in regards to the difference between a reporter, and a reporter wearing Armani. Apparently it didn’t matter that Miranda paid nothing for the clothes, Andrea had still only chosen a handful of days on which she had decided it was appropriate to wear full designer. Although a number of shirts and blouses had slipped their way into her daily wardrobe, much to Miranda’s delight. Not that she would ever voice it, of course, for fear there would be a quick return to previous habits.

“I hope you didn’t wear that in Washington,” Miranda said, pursing her lips.

Andrea rolled her eyes as she tugged roughly at her stockings, making Miranda wince.

“Nope, I saved this one especially for you _dear_ ,” the reporter sassed with a smirk, even as she hopped on one foot.

She had the height of a model, but about as much grace as an elephant, but Miranda wouldn’t have her any other way.

“I do hope you made use of the Escada,” Miranda noted, as Andrea finally got both feet back on the ground before moving to climb up onto the obscenely large Hastens’ bed.

“Yes, I made use of the Escada, and the Armani, and the Chanel, not that anyone actually cared. Maybe we should move to Washington. Our friends were very light on the ground in the Capitol,” Andrea said as she plucked up the book from her lap and tossed it aside.

“Careful,” Miranda growled, even as the brunette crawled up to straddle Miranda’s legs.

Andrea ignored her, settling herself across her thighs instead. “It’s past your bed time, M,” she said with a smirk, her tone suggestive as she reached forward and gently extracted Miranda’s glasses, folding them and slowly sliding one arm down the expanse of her pale chest before it disappeared into the depths of her tantalizing cleavage.

Miranda had absolute zero doubts that the reporter had loosened that extra-damn-button on purpose. However, she wasn’t about to be distracted that easily.

“I finally got roped into watching the new James Bond. Judy Dench is 20 years older than me, I’ll have you know,” Miranda sniffed.

“Well, best you start following her beauty regime; she’s not bad for 100,” Andrea smirked.

Miranda pursed her lips. “To think, just 30 seconds ago I had convinced myself I actually missed your presence in this house. Now, I’m not so sure,” she glared.

Andrea rocked forward, pressing her hips down and Miranda berated herself internally for the tell-tale hitch in her breath which couldn’t be missed.

Andrea smirked in satisfaction, grabbing Miranda’s glasses and tucking one arm between her teeth as she began slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

“Oh, I almost forgot my flannel pyjamas, I should probably go ge—“ Andrea began before she was cut off. Miranda grabbed her collar, tugged the glasses away from her mouth and pulled her forward forcefully, their lips crashing together.

The reporter moaned in satisfaction before deepening the kiss.

All Miranda could think was that it had been too long. _Much_ too long.

Andrea smelled like hotel shampoo and fading perfume. Miranda pulled her closer, drawing the reporter’s lower lip into her mouth and suckling gently, relishing the needy groan that the action elicited.

They spent a long time entwined like this, hands moving to brush across exposed skin and touch things that had been sorely missed.

When they finally surfaced for air, Miranda brushed the bangs away from reporter’s face before resting her palm on her cheek. “I hope you haven’t made plans this weekend,” she said gently.

Andrea leant into the touch, smiling. “I have a date with a bottle of wine, a book, and my ugliest pyjamas,” she said, a hint of fatigue entering her voice.

“Yes, well I do believe I have wine and a sofa,” Miranda said, “The pyjamas we can discuss,” she continued in a sultry tone before gently pulling Andrea against her, releasing the reporter’s hair from its ponytail before combing her fingers through long brunette tresses.

Andrea sighed against her chest, her head resting just below Miranda’s chin. Miranda knew that sigh well, and it was quickly confirmed as the brunette’s eyes began drifting involuntarily closed.

Andrea muttered against her, “I had grand plans I’ll have you know,” she protested weakly.

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” Miranda said gently as she unbuttoned the remainder of the reporter’s shirt with one hand and helped her to extract herself. “Now, come on,” she continued in a quiet voice as she reached for the covers and slid them both down in the bed, leaning over to turn out the light.

Andrea nuzzled into her side before settling with her head on Miranda’s chest. The weight was warm and comforting, and in the darkness Miranda continued to draw her hands through soft strands.

Andrea hummed contentedly. “It’s good to be home,” she said sleepily through the darkness.

 _Home_.

People always write silly little clichés about love. About the one, about destiny, about people coming into your life for a reason.

Miranda never put much stock in fairy-tales.

 _This_ was her fairy-tale.

Yes, there may still be a pokey little apartment across town with a cranky bartender down the hall, but in this moment, right now, Andrea was _home._


End file.
